


My Baby's a Devil in the Bedroom

by callmelyss



Series: Huccubus [1]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Attempt at Humor, Brendol Hux's A+ Parenting, Crack Treated Seriously, Demon Armitage Hux, Fluff and Smut, Huccubus, M/M, Mental Health Discussions, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Rimming, Romance, Sex Toys, spookiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-07-25 12:14:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16197341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmelyss/pseuds/callmelyss
Summary: “Oh,obviously.” Kylo let out a shaky laugh and ran both hands through his hair. “Wait, no, you’re serious. You’re a fucking demon.”“Well, yes, not to put too fine a point on it.” Hux smiled, clearly pleased with himself at the joke. “Or more accurately, I’m a succubus. A sex demon.”—Kylo has an unusual squatter. He's pretty fine with it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> With lots of love to [thesevioletdelights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesevioletdelights) for putting the idea in my head. And all the usual finger-wagging at Kylux Twitter for encouraging me. Happy Halloween!

When he has a choice, which is to say when he isn’t working nights, Kylo prefers to run in the mornings, as the sun rises—crisp air on his skin, buttery dawn light coming over the hill, his breath puffing out in white clouds under his nose. It’s a ritual, a good one, with its set rhythms. The thud of his sneakers as they strike the macadam, the background murmur of whatever music or podcast he has on that day, and his heartbeat, steady, regular, blood pumping in his ears. How the park is waking up around him, too. He feels grounded, then. Centered. Like himself.

He’s done it every day he wasn’t sick since Uncle Luke first introduced him to running. He'd been in seventh grade, then, and was always buzzing with too much energy, emotion, everything. It was an outlet; it became a routine.

Which, of course, is why his mother calls in the mornings; she knows he'll be out. He returns to his apartment to two voicemails—one from her and one from Rey—to a bowl of cold cereal, to a hurried shower before the warm water runs out, and, a recent addition, to the demon who’s more or less been living on his couch.

“I could enchant the pipes for you,” Hux says, without looking up from his phone. As he has every morning for the past three weeks. As much boasting about his abilities as offering to help, Kylo knows. “You could have hours of scalding hot water if you wanted. Boil yourself like a lobster.”

“I’m good,” he tells him. Leaning against the doorframe as he eats. “And being boiled doesn’t sound very nice.”

“Mm. It isn’t.” Hux’s perched in his usual spot on the middle cushion, sitting cross-legged and munching on his own bowl of cornflakes while he watches _Good Morning America_. Today he’s wearing one of Kylo’s sweatshirts and yellow pajama pants printed with strawberry ice cream cones. Looking about as un-demon-like as possible with his bedhead and his black plastic glasses and sleep-creased face. The only giveaways are the small, blunt horns peeking out on either side of his cowlick and the faint tendrils of smoke oozing from his green eyes.

Well, that and the dark red tail curled next to him like a content pet on the couch. But Kylo’s gotten used to that. To all of it, really. Surprisingly quickly.

“How’s the internet?”

Hux wrinkles his nose; he’s scrolling through Twitter, like he does most mornings. “Your species may actually be too stupid to live,” he remarks. "It might literally kill you all."

“And yours has nothing to do with that, I take it?” He goes to dump his empty bowl in the sink. 

“We tempt your souls; we don’t need you to be _dumb._ ” He’s making a little moue of distaste when Kylo comes back into the room. “There’s no sport in that. Seduction is an _art,_ I’ll have you know.”

“Yes, well,” he says. Checking his watch. “O infernal tempter of my frail human spirit. Are you hungry? Because I have to go to work.”

Hux banishes his cereal with a waved hand. “I _am_ a might peckish,” he concedes. Accepts Kylo’s kiss eagerly, greedily, sucking his lower lip into his mouth and biting it lightly. He tastes, incongruously, not at all like cornflakes but like cherry candy, although it varies. His tail curls around Kylo’s waist as he licks into his mouth, tugging him closer. And it’s such a minor sensation as to be nearly unnoticeable—a not-quite draining _._  The slightest dimming of his energy. Like he’d gotten just twenty minutes less sleep or run an extra half-mile this morning.

“Okay?” Hux asks when they part. His eyes have gone almost completely black, a thin band of green circling the outer edge, shadows leaking out over his pale lashes. But he manages to look concerned nonetheless.

“Peachy,” Kylo says. Gives him another wet kiss on the forehead, entirely for his own amusement, for the way he frowns and scrubs at the spot. “Have a good day.”

 

* * *

 

He hadn’t known, of course, that Hux was a demon when they met. He thought he was just another weirdo lurking around the mini-mart after 11pm; anyone there at that hour would be, present company included. He himself had had a distinct craving for Eggos that night (he was _not_ thinking about how his father always bought them for him whenever his mother was on a work trip). Had retrieved them from the freezer on the back wall when he caught sight of him, standing at the register.

Despite what he would have assumed elsewhere, it wasn’t the red hair that initially attracted his attention. Not the green eyes, peculiarly bright under the fluorescents. Not the pert little ass, looking especially round in a pair of pink velour track pants. And certainly, there’d been no sign of the horns, the persistently smoking eyelashes, or the blood-red tail with its broad, arrowhead tip.

No, the bunny slippers caught his eye first. Pale blue, tattered but not dirty, the right one with clumsy black stitching where an eye should be, as though it had been repaired, or an attempt made, at least. The left tapped impatiently on the scuffed linoleum while he waited for the cashier. It would have been less noteworthy, Kylo thought, if he had been barefoot. 

And then he saw the rest of him. Plump lower lip caught between his teeth. Fingers drumming, looking like they’d be happy for a bell to ring. One eyebrow lifting imperiously when the cashier arrived. 

Kylo tried not to look like he was staring as this unlikely bunny-slipper-wearing individual dumped a handful of coins on the countertop and took his purchase—a single-wrap Hot Pocket—without a bag.

“This is a Canadian penny,” the cashier protested, sweeping the change into the cash register.

“Keep it. That’s more than enough anyway,” he said. Voice snotty, tone not at all alleviated by his posh accent. He brushed by Kylo, almost knocking into him, although there was plenty of room on either side, and headed towards the microwaves in the corner. “Pardon me.”

He was still standing there after Kylo checked out, looking despairingly at the machines, both bearing _out-of-order_ signs. He’d partially unwrapped the Hot Pocket and was scowling at it, as though willing it to self-heat. Raised it to his lips and gnawed half-heartedly on one frozen corner.

“Er, hi,” Kylo said, approaching him. Already feeling stupid. 

He blinked, turning to see who’d intruded on his uncookable-dinner conundrum. Drew his gaze, long, lingering, up all six-feet-plus of him, so deliberately Kylo _felt_ it. Grinned around the Hot Pocket before pulling it from his mouth. “Why, hello. And who might you be?” he purred. Irritation vanished.

“Uh, I’m Kylo. What’s—what’s your name?”

“ _You_ can call me Hux,” he said, like he'd decided this on the spot.

“Hi, Hux. Did you—I have a microwave. At my apartment,” he told him. And gods above, that had to be the worst pick-up line in the history of human civilization. He cringed, waiting for the blow.

But Hux, for his part, looked untroubled by this awkward pronouncement. He raised his eyebrow again, not imperious this time. Maybe amused. “Do you now? How fortuitous.” He shifted closer to Kylo, somehow without moving his slippered feet. Up close, he was even more appealing, although there were faint bags under his eyes, a dry patch of skin on an otherwise unbelievably dewy cheek. He looked, for lack of a better word, _hungry_ as he glided one hand over Kylo’s chest, feeling the muscle there, and glanced up at him through his eyelashes.

Desire pummeled him right in the gut, his curiosity flaring into full-on lust so fast he almost staggered.

Hux, seeing this, smiled wider, showing more sharp, white teeth. Eyes glinting. Predatory. He took a bite of Hot Pocket, which was now, impossibly, steaming in his hand. _But?_ Kylo thought, frontal lobe unable to produce a more complete thought as that other hand drifted lower, towards his belt. “Oh, yes,” Hux said. Thumb flicking against his navel. “You’ll do quite nicely.” 

 

* * *

 

Which was how he’d ended up back in his crummy one-bedroom apartment less than an hour later, Eggos forgotten on the kitchen table, with his tongue thrusting into that round little ass while Hux moaned into his cheap pillowcases and wiggled under him, track pants snagged around one ankle, t-shirt pushed up around his skinny ribs. “Why you—you get right in there, don’t you?” he asked, voice breathy. “Remarkable.”

Kylo hummed, pleased at the compliment, and swirled his tongue around his rim before licking into him again. Liking, too, the twitch of his hips in his hands, how well they fit there, and the gloss of sweat just starting at the small of his back. He withdrew enough to mouth at one cheek, then the other, dragging his teeth down the tender skin and eliciting another moan from Hux.

It was right around then he noticed the tail.

It didn’t _appear_ , not exactly, not in the sense that it sprouted, unannounced from his pelvis. No, one moment he was nipping at the soft divots of flesh above Hux’s perfect ass. The next, something smooth and supple was caressing his cheek. He saw the base of it at about his coccyx, narrower than his hand and dark red. Like it had been there the entire time, and he was only just now noticing it.

Which didn’t make it less— _surprising._ “What the fuck,” Kylo shouted and jerked backward, almost tumbling off the bed.

“Mm?” Hux rolled over to look at him, confused, his tail coming to drape over one creamy thigh. And there they were, too, unmistakable, two horns protruding from his messy hair. 

“You have—“ Kylo stammered. “And a—and _your eyes, what the fuck, Hux_. Your _eyes_.”

“Oh,” he said, blasé. As though he’d pointed out an oddly colored mole or a birthmark the shape of Florida or a misspelled tattoo. “You noticed. That’s unusual.”

“I _noticed_ , and _that’s_ unusual?” He tried to ignore the way his voice had risen to an agitated squeak. And what should he do in this situation? Call somebody? Who? “What—what the fuck _are_ you?”

“That’s rude,” Hux pointed out mildly, frowning. He was sitting back against the pillows, otherwise unperturbed. The end of his tail swished. “I’m a _who_ , not a what. And I’m a demon. Obviously.”

“Oh, _obviously_.” Kylo let out a shaky laugh and ran both hands through his hair. “Wait, no, you’re serious. You’re a fucking demon.”

“Well, yes, not to put too fine a point on it.” He smiled, clearly pleased with himself at the joke. “Or more accurately, I’m a succubus. A sex demon.”

“A succubus,” he repeated. He’d had his tongue in a succubus. Which. “Hey. Is _that_ why you taste like Red Hots?”

He’d thought it was a cinnamon candy body scrub or—something.

“Do I?” Hux leaned forward, expression curious. Eyes gleaming, despite the darkness leaking out of them. “I never knew. Most people don’t—well, you’re _very_ attentive, as I said. I rather liked it.”

And it was ridiculous, maybe, to blush at receiving praise from a fucking sex demon, but he did. “So most people just—?”

“Fuck me?” He shrugged. “Yeah. Or sometimes I fuck them. But it’s usually quick in either case. Just a snack, of course.”

 _Just a snack_. “Oh, you—what?” He waved a hand, searching. “Feed off people or something?” He shuddered as another thought occurred to him. “Do you hypnotize them? Oh my god. Do you _kill_ them?”

“Please.” And his expression could only have been described as prim. He even folded his hands in his lap. “I consume non-lethal quantities of _consensual_ human sexual energy in order to preserve my corporeal state and transmutative abilities, yes, but I do not _kill_ people. Or hypnotize them. I’m not a _monster_.” A deeper frown etched between his eyebrows. “Besides, it’s terribly messy. Your kind leaves such a lot of matter behind when you expire.”

 _And you don’t?_ he could have asked, might have in other less practical, less literal circumstances, but there was the whole presence of an honest-to-god succubus in his bed, lecturing him on his assumptions about, well, demons, to contend with, in _fact_. Then he remembered the scene at the mini-mart earlier. The Hot Pocket. “So. Before.“

Hux nodded. “I was low on juice, so to speak. Your…interest. Gave me a little boost. It doesn’t take much. Usually, I track down new candidates on Grindr every few days, but I’ve been so bloody tired lately. It’s annoying to have to go out all the time when you only want something to eat.” He yawned then, showing a wet curl of tongue, and stretched, shirt riding back up over his lap, revealing his still mostly-erect cock, pink and bobbing. “Then my phone’s battery died, and I _couldn’t_ find anyone to feed from, and I was just so miserable and hungry. It’s lucky you were there, really. I’m not sure what I would’ve done. I'm  _so_ lucky to have met you, Kylo.” And if the little display didn’t make his desires clear, the look in his eyes did then. _Inviting_.

Kylo considered this. On the one hand, there was a demon in his bed. On the other hand, he was a pretty cute demon, who seemed to appreciate what he could do with his mouth—and he was in his _bed_. He didn’t move away when Hux crawled closer. 

He climbed onto him, straddling his thighs and cupping his face. “Does it bother you?” he asked, staring into Kylo’s eyes. “My tail, I mean. I can hide it from you again, if you want.”

Said appendage was coiling around him, pulling him in. He shook his head. “No. No, I think I like it.”

“Oh.” He smiled again, surprised, not the hunter’s smile from earlier, but something softer. Sweeter. “Okay. Good.”

 

* * *

 

It was only after, when the two of them were sitting up in bed, eating warm Eggos, that Hux observed, “By the way, you’re taking this awfully well. The last person who saw my tail, I had to knock him out and wipe his memory.” He blinked at Kylo’s horrified face. “What? He was fine. I put him in an Uber. And he was much happier not remembering, I assure you.”

He could understand that. Maybe. As for his own reaction, he explained, “Well, I guess I wasn’t too surprised.” He paused, thinking. Hux was probably the one person he'd met who wouldn’t immediately assume he was crazy. “The truth is, I used to hear things. When I was younger. Voices. I always kind of thought they were demons.”

His family had, of course, believed differently, as had every psychiatrist they took him to see.

Hux perked up, interested. “Oh? What made you think that?”

Kylo shrugged, taking another bite of waffle. “Just a feeling, I guess. It—they—used to tell me things about other people. My friends. My parents. What they were thinking. And—I’m pretty sure some of it was true.”

He’d _known_ some of it was true. His mother’s periodic regrets about having him. His father’s fears for him. Other children’s, his teachers’ fears _of_ him. Rey alone hadn’t thought he was bad or crazy. But she’d been too young to do much except comfort him sometimes.

Hux was looking at him intently, searching possibly more than his face. “But you don’t hear them anymore.”

He shook his head. “They stopped when I was in high school. Everyone decided we’d finally found the right cocktail of pills, but I thought they might have—lost interest. I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like they’re still there. Only waiting. If that makes sense.” He’d moved out after graduation, tired of all the hovering, the anxious looks when he had so much as a headache, the careful plans being made for his future, all without his say-so. Found a job in a warehouse and this apartment. Eased off his nastier medications with his doctor’s help. Maintained the others. That had been six years ago. He ran every day. He went to work. He ignored his mother’s voicemails most of the time. Answered Rey’s occasionally. But he was all right.

Hux brushed his hand down his face. Bumped one knuckle over his bottom lip. Still studying him. “They frightened you, hm.” Not a question. Then he smiled again. “And I don’t?”

He took that questing hand in his. “No, you. You’re different.” _You’re not telling me what to do_. _How to hurt people_.

“Excellent,” he said, satisfied. “I should hate to be a— _cliché._ ” He freed himself gently from Kylo’s grip. “But I suppose I had better be going.”

“Yeah?” he asked. Trying not to sound disappointed. _But of course, he got what he needed from you, Kylo. Why would he stay? Don’t be stupid_. 

“Well, yes.” Hux climbed off the bed and started scrounging around for his clothes, hopping into his track pants and shimmying them up his hips. “Which is not to say this wasn’t thoroughly enjoyable. It was.” After he pulled on his shirt, he leaned over to kiss him soundly on the lips. “More fun than I’ve had in a while. Truly.” 

“Can I—will I see you again?” And, yes, needy. But he wanted to.

He frowned, as though seriously considering this, as he stepped back into his slippers, balancing one-handed against the wall. “You know, no one’s ever asked me that before? I mean, usually because they're unconscious when I leave, but you.” He peered at Kylo, as if noticing he had green hair—or a tail—for the first time. “Why, you’re not even tired, are you?”

He scanned himself the way Uncle Luke had taught him, taking account of his breathing, his pulse, his energy levels. _Mindful._  “No, I. I feel fine. A little sleepy.” But it was late, after 1 a.m.

“Huh. Well, you _are_ exceptional, aren’t you?”

He jumped at the opportunity, only halfway recognizing it. “That would be good for you, wouldn't it? A renewable energy source? So you didn’t have to—find a new stranger every week. What if you had a, a volunteer? Someone who knew what—who—you were and didn’t mind.” And probably it sounded sort of desperate, but he didn’t care just then. He only wanted to see Hux again.

“Well, it would be ideal, not having to scavenge. And I wouldn’t miss being groped in public toilets, I can tell you.” He stared at Kylo again. “But I can’t say it might not cause you long-term harm, my feeding from you that way. There could be ill effects. Cognitive deterioration. Muscle atrophy. Vitamin deficiency.”

“Maybe you could stick around, then,” Kylo suggested. Amazed that he _was_ suggesting it, but it felt logical. Right, even. “Keep an eye on me. After all, you’re better equipped to recognize the—the signs than anyone else would be. It could be an experiment. Plus, then I would be, um. Available. When you needed me.” 

Hux knelt on the edge of the bed and took his face in his hands, searching, really searching, his eyes, and it was, for a moment, like cool fingers were brushing over his brow—no, deeper than that, as though they were brushing over his _thoughts_ , his soul, if such a thing existed, the very core of his being caressed by an autumn wind. “Well, look at you,” he breathed. And there were slivers of silver among the green in his irises; he was close enough to see them. Finally, he released him, and that probing feeling retreated, a relief, although it hadn’t been unpleasant. Not like before. With the others.

“So. What do you think?” Kylo asked, after a silence.

He tapped his lips with one finger. The bunny slippers seemed to be pensive, too. “I suppose it could be worth exploring. Convenient, certainly,” Hux allowed. “More than satisfying, if this evening was any indication. I’ve never stayed with anyone before, though. I’m not sure I’d be very good at it.”

He grinned. He could hear the beginnings of a  _yes_ in that acknowledgment. “Only one way to find out.”

 

* * *

 

Kylo pulls the door closed behind him and turns the deadbolt, mostly from habit. He’s fairly certain that Hux can keep out any unwanted intruders. Not that he has anything much to steal—and honestly, he pities any thief who comes between the current succubus-in-residence and his court shows. 

That had been another unexpected revelation. As far as he can tell, Hux mostly uses his powers to keep his phone charged and to change the channel when he can’t find the remote. _Some unholy sex monster._ Kylo shakes his head, amused.

He’s almost down the block when he feels it: the familiar sensation of being watched. Turns to find an empty street. Resumes his walk to work, although he can’t quite shake it, that certainty, someone’s eyes on him, following him. Unfriendly eyes. Someone, or something, trying to whisper in his ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS. Yes, I do know the succubus is traditionally the female iteration of sex demon, but Hux doesn't much care about gender essentialism and neither do I. ;) (I.e., he has his reasons for calling himself a succubus. We'll get to those.)
> 
> More soon! Thanks for reading. <3
> 
> ([tumblr](http://callmelyss.tumblr.com))


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo's uneasiness continues. Hux answers a question. There might be pizza.

The week passes—gray, overcast, trudging—and Kylo still can’t say exactly what’s happening.

He knows better than to dismiss his feelings out of hand. He makes careful note of everything: the prickling sensation on his skin that keeps insisting he’s being watched, being followed; the headache that squeezes, throbbing, at the base of his skull; and the almost murmuring of a voice, too low, too indistinct to catch. He’s not quite hearing things, not yet, but he can’t shake the impression that there’s something _to_ hear. By Friday, he’s asked his coworkers  _Did you say something_ so many times that they’re beginning to look at him oddly.

His mood is noticeable enough that Phasma, his ice-blonde Valkyrie of a supervisor, lets him go early with a stern admonition to get some rest and take better care of himself. 

He mulls it over more on the walk home, the sixteen dreary city blocks that separate the warehouse from his apartment. It’s not really like before, not like when he was a kid and hearing that snake-skin voice telling him how unwanted he was, how misunderstood, how the people who rejected him deserved to be hurt, his classmates and the neighbor kids and his family. He’d wanted to please that voice so much; he felt like it understood him, even loved him. He would have done anything for it.

He almost had.

This isn’t that—Kylo can’t hear it, whatever’s trying to talk to him. If it is anything. And maybe it’s worse, in a way, to be listening for something that isn’t there, to be waiting.

He catches only a glimpse before he ducks into his building: a gray figure standing on the corner, unbothered by the drizzle that’s beginning to fall. Maybe, probably not looking at him. He hopes.

He shivers and pulls the door closed.

 

* * *

 

A wave of heat hits him the moment he steps into his apartment; it’s like walking into a hothouse. “Shit, Hux, are you homesick or something?”

“The lake of fire is a human mythology concocted to make children behave,” he replies without looking up from his phone. He’s sprawled on his stomach, playing Candy Crush, slippered feet and pointed tail waving idly. “I’m just cold.”

“Heat costs money, you know. Electric companies _are_ real and will shut off the power,” Kylo tells him. Feeling irritable and sounding it, too, he knows. He steps out of his shoes and strips off his damp hoodie, shaking his hair. He’s chilled through himself. “Unless you—?“ He gestures vaguely to suggest _did this with magic_.

“No, it’s far simpler to use the thermostat. I did, however, seduce your electrical meter into reading fewer kilowatt hours. So there’s nothing to fret over.” He smirks in that way has when he thinks he’s been clever. It’s something of a daily occurrence. Sometimes hourly.

“You. _Seduced_ the electrical meter,” he repeats, incredulous.

Hux rolls over to look at him, green eyes glinting behind their omnipresent tendrils of smoke. “Machines like to be told they’re good boys, too, Kylo,” he purrs. “It’s all about how you talk to them.”

And he shouldn’t blush and look away, not after a month of cohabitation and more regular sex than he’s had in his life, but Hux still has that effect on him. He struggles to recover: “Well then, ye enticer of electronics, I don’t suppose you could bewitch the cable box into giving us free HBO?”

“Mm, of course. Want me to?” 

He shakes his head quickly, abandoning the joke. “No, thanks.”

“I _could_ ,” he presses, studying him. He’s genuinely offering, Kylo knows. It’s a regular refrain between them: Hux suggesting he use his powers on his behalf, mostly for small conveniences, him categorically refusing. 

Not that there haven’t been _unrequested_ fringe benefits. The day after Hux arrived, every mouse and cockroach in the place evacuated in two orderly lines; he hasn’t had a telemarketer call in weeks; and there never seem to be commercials when they watch television. He hasn’t asked about it.

But he realizes Hux is looking for ways to repay him more directly, for letting him stay here, for the energy, the sustenance Kylo provides for him, and that feels transactional in a way he dislikes. Although it _is_ a transaction, he understands, their arrangement, an exchange. Hux gets what he needs to survive and Kylo— 

Kylo gets his company. And they haven’t talked about that, what it means, but it’s all he wants from Hux, his particular presence, the fussy way he talks, his touch, when he’s inclined to give it; he’s not some genie he captured to grant wishes. He’s already become an unusual constant in his life, with his brightly colored pajama pants—ruby-red watermelon slices on light blue today—and his bunny slippers and his twitching tail, and always _here_ , when he leaves, when he comes home from work, from his runs, from his therapy sessions. It’s unexpectedly comforting. Someone to watch bad movies with, to share chicken fingers with at two in the morning, even to bicker with about the electric bill. If he happens to be a sex demon, well, so be it.

But he’s frowning at him now, how he always does when Kylo turns him down for a favor. He looks like he’s about to say something else, like he might _make_ them talk about it, how this is working, how it should work, whether it should continue, what he’s getting out of it.

Kylo heads him off, seizing on the first idea that comes to mind. “Hey. I thought of another question for you.”

Hux groans. Distracted— _good_. “Please tell me you haven’t been on Wikipedia again. I’m going to hex that website.”

“Pretty sure someone’s beaten you to the punch.”

“That’s probably true.” 

“But no, I was just curious.”

He sighs, put-upon. “Very well, then. What you do want to know?”

It’s at least partly an act, the exasperation, because there’s nothing Hux loves better than explaining demonic metaphysics to Kylo. The past weeks have been full of impromptu lectures and pontifications— _Demons aren’t inherently evil any more than people are. There are those who do more harm and those who do less. But you may as well call a shark evil, or a tornado, when in actuality, it’s merely acting according to its nature._

Also, following a lengthy diatribe on Latin, the distinction between _incubare_ and _succubare_ , and the arbitrariness of gendered language: _Just because some fifteenth-century twat in a cassock decided that there were separate—heteronormative—demons for men and women doesn’t mean a bloody thing now. I don’t see why I shouldn’t call myself what I like._

And, perhaps most memorably, the one time he’d been stumped: _Huh._   _I haven’t the faintest idea where the jizz goes when I banish it._

Put another way, there’s nothing he loves better than being right. And possibly the sound of his own voice.

Then, Kylo likes it, too.

He moves to sit down, and Hux makes room automatically, curling his legs under him and his tail between them, the tip not quite touching Kylo. “Well, I was just wondering where you come from? That is, how you, uh, happen?” 

Hux grins immediately, amused. “Kylo, are you asking me how baby demons are made?” Teasing. “I should hope you’d have a good idea by now. Although I’d be happy to demonstrate, of course.” He bites his lip, giving him an unsubtle once-over.

He blushes again. “No—I mean. Yes, please. Later? But I guess I was wondering about you. Specifically. Whether you have, you know. A family. Or whatever. Parents.” Maybe just because he’s been thinking about his own lately. But also because Hux seems as alone as he is, in some ways.

And he couldn’t have anticipated his reaction, the stillness that comes over his face, smile gone, noticeably different from his usual smugness. “Oh.”

The lights flicker. 

Kylo knows intimately by now that a full-on demonic sulk is a uniquey unpleasant experience; the last time, the taps ran red with blood for six hours straight, every channel was airing episodes of _Keeping Up with the Kardashians_ in reverse, and he couldn’t get the chorus to “Bad Romance” out of his head. 

He does _not_ want to trigger a similar incident now. “You don’t have to tell me, though. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay.”

“No, it’s all right.” Hux takes a breath and blows his hair out of his face; he displaces the black wisps around his eyes, too. The flickering stops. “I was—“ He makes a face. “— _sired_ by an incubus.”

“Okay. What does that mean, exactly?”

“Human mother, demon father,” he explains. “That’s how it tends to happen, although sometimes it’s the reverse. We typically don’t reproduce among ourselves, and our genes are, ah. Dominant. Consistently. But in most cases, the human parent rejects the child at birth. We’re not the prettiest infants, and there’s the whole matter of uncanny abilities to contend with. My mother was unusual; she kept me until I was almost five.” 

There’s no mistaking his tone now: _sad_. And his eyes look alarmingly wet.

 _Well, shit, Kylo, you asshole, you made your demon roommate-slash-fuck buddy cry._ He reaches over to rub his knee, apologetic. “Do you remember her?”

“Some. She was a bit like you.” Hux sniffles and pats his hand in thanks. “Not scared of me. But eventually, my father learned of my existence and came to retrieve me. You can’t just have baby demons running around unsupervised.”

He thinks, fleetingly, of the likely  _Weekly World News_ articles: _Toddler Antichrist Enrolls in Preschool_ , or something to that effect. “I guess not.”

“Plus, he wanted a protégé. Problem was, he didn’t much care for me. All that time spent among humans made me weak, frail, in his opinion. It didn’t help that I manifest, ah, like this. And there are different ways of being—how we are. Say, philosophies. He wanted me to be like him; it displeased him that I wasn’t. Ultimately, another demon taught me what I needed to know. A succubus. Her name was Sloane.”

And there, between the lines: “She let you be yourself.” 

Hux nods. “Precisely. And I _like_ being how I am.” His expression falters again. “Even if it means I’m not an especially good demon, in the traditional sense.” 

Still sad, then.

“Hey,” Kylo says. He leans across the sofa to tap him under the chin with two fingers, encouraging him to meet his gaze. “I know my opinion doesn’t count for much, being a meat sack and all, but I think you’re a _great_ demon.”

“You do?” He brightens.

“Of course I do,” he promises. It’s almost too much, how he’s looking at him now, eyes gleaming, smile playing over his lips, like he. Like _they—_ Kylo coughs, trying not to flush. “I’m completely in your thrall, don’t forget.” 

Hux chuckles. “A puppet to my will, yes, I know.”

It’s simple, too simple, to pull him into his arms, arrange them so that Hux is lying on top of him. Soft, sweet-smelling. “And what would you have of me, my master?” Kylo nuzzles his hair, the side of one stubby horn. “You could sit on my face, if you want.” That tends to cheer him up.

“Mm, tempting,” Hux says. He pecks his way down Kylo’s neck while he thinks. Lingers, sucking a bruise under the collar of his t-shirt. “But maybe later. I have something else in mind, just now.”

“Yeah?” 

By way of answer, he slides both hands under Kylo’s shirt. They’re warm, as Hux tends to be overall, and he shifts as they move over his skin, following the lines of his muscles, finding the tender spots from work and soothing them. It’s not a massage; he’s not even really pressing down, his caresses light, gentle. There’s something else happening: the places where he touches tingling, then relaxing, loosening. Whatever tension’s still hunching in his neck and shoulders unwinds, too, and he eases into the couch under Hux’s ministrations, feeling languid. But also restored. Well-rested.

“What—what are you doing?” he asks. Not concerned so much as bemused. 

“Oh, just giving you some of this back.” He’s still kissing Kylo’s neck, has probably left a half dozen marks by now. He’ll get shit for it at work, but he doesn’t care. “It’s nothing complicated. I’m stimulating your nerves and muscles, telling them they’re happy.” He runs both hands up his ribcage, and euphoria crests in their wake, sunny and liquid. Then, he pauses. “I can stop if you’re not enjoying it.”

“No, I am. It’s—But you don’t— _ah_ ,” Hux’s teeth scrape over his jaw, and he shivers. “You don’t have to do that. Use your magic for me. It’s not—necessary.”

“Never mind necessity for a moment, Kylo,” Hux says, low in his ear. Breath muggy against his skin. “Have you ever considered that I might _like_  it when you feel good?”

And he doesn’t have a response to that. Has even less of one as Hux moves down his body, then, settling between his thighs, massaging them too, and his legs, growing heavy, fall open. 

“Some historians believe your medieval witch hunters mistook sleep paralysis for demonic influence,” Hux says, conversational, as he neatly pops open the button on his jeans, slides his zipper down, and reaches into his boxers to draw out his cock, stroking it softly. “It’s not a bad hypothesis, although this—should be much more pleasant.” Without further preamble, he dips his head to take it in his mouth and sucks.

Kylo’s head falls back weakly; his eyelids flutter; he moans. It’s not just that Hux is good at this, at all of it—although, of course, he’s _very_ good—it’s something else, something about _him_. The pleased way he hums when he elicits a particularly loud response. How he strokes Kylo’s hip, his inner thigh, comforting. His obvious arousal, doing this. And he’s not shy about that, grinding against him, dropping a hand between his own legs, rocking against the cushions, teasing himself with pressure and friction, even as he teases the cock in his mouth.

_Have you ever considered that I might like it when you feel good?_

He lets Hux set the pace, finding he wants this, to cede control, responsibility, this way, somewhere he’s safe. Didn’t recognize before how much it had been wearing on him, being on alert this week. The uncertainty. And how much it’s worn on him these past several years looking after himself. Wondering if it would be enough, his routine, his coping strategies, doing it on his own. But there’s none of that now, here. 

Hux bobs his head, slowly, taking his time, drawing off to lick at him periodically, pressing sloppy wet kisses against the shaft, the head, before swallowing him again, full lips spread wide, soft hair brushing over his lower belly, tickling.

Kylo runs his fingers along his jaw, wanting to see his face; he looks up at him, inquiring, then amused, then affectionate. Holds his gaze as he hollows his cheeks, deliberate, extracting another moan from him. The darkness around his eyes makes them look sharper somehow, like cut green glass. His tail curves over his shoulder. The end bumps along Kylo’s knuckles, friendly. 

And then he does something clever and probably not humanly possible with his tongue, and Kylo comes with a quiet, “ _Ah!”_ Hux sucks him at for a few more moments, wringing every last drop from him, rumbling in the back of his throat. Pulls off with a satisfied sigh. His pupils are enormous as he inches his way up, writhing slightly against him as he does, and there’s the sensation again, a peculiar glow moving through Kylo, reassuring him. He doesn’t think it’s only his orgasm.

He receives a lengthy, enthusiastic kiss from Hux as he comes down. He’s not draining anything from him right now—if anything, he seems to be trying to offer something to him instead: the taste of him, that small frisson of energy, his own pleasure. “What is it today?” he asks, breathy, when they part. 

“Pop rocks,” Kylo tells him, and it is, the chalky-tart fizz of it on his lips, his tongue. 

Hux’s eyes crinkle at the corners, delighted. He’s rubbing, undemanding, against his hip, not necessarily seeking his own release, possibly just chasing the feeling of it. He explained early on that he likes the sensations of sex as much as, if not more so, than the end result, and that just because he doesn’t finish doesn’t mean he hasn’t enjoyed himself. Sometimes he comes when they fuck; sometimes he doesn’t. He seems equally unconcerned by either eventuality, although Kylo prefers it when he does. He cups Hux’s ass now, kneads it, encouraging him.

He moans against his neck and hooks one leg over both of his, finding more traction that way. And he’s definitely close, at least given the way the lightbulbs are burning brighter in their sockets, more flares of energy shooting off of him and into Kylo, the way his tail flicks, as he thrusts against him, faster, more frenetic. He quivers when he finally comes, curled around him, fingers trembling in the fabric of his shirt.

They stay like that, Hux draped over him, idly petting his chest, for a long, still period. “You were worried about something,” he says, breaking the silence eventually. “When you came in. What was it?”

And of everyone, he _should_ tell Hux about what’s happening, how he’s been feeling lately, and what he’s afraid it means. There’s certainly no one better equipped to determine if he’s having an episode or if it’s something else, something external to his own neurochemistry. But he knows, too, it could be a side-effect, the result of their arrangement. Hux could decide that he’s harming Kylo and that they should stop—he could leave.

He should still tell him. 

“It’s nothing,” he says. Kisses his eyebrow, the faint aroma of charcoal there. “It’s just work. Phasma was on my ass all day. And I have night shifts the next two weeks.”

“Night shift?” Hux frowns at this, squirming closer. “You’ll be tired. We should probably—not for a while, then.” 

He shakes his head quickly. “I’ll be fine. It just takes some adjusting the first few days.”

“If you’re sure.” His lips quirk, skeptical. And that look on his face, brow puckered, mouth drawn: _worried_.

 _Just for what he needs, Kylo. Not for you_. It’s not the creeping whisper of his childhood, but his own voice, dry, practical, reciting what he knows to be true, no other input required.

“Maybe you can help me sleep?” he offers, grasping for a solution. Draws his thumb over his shoulder, stroking, soothing. “Then I won’t be tired.”

Hux leans back, studying him. Not the penetrative look he gave him the night they met, that soul-deep searching. Only scanning his eyes, his face. “What a rare thing you are,” he murmurs. To himself more than Kylo. His tail uncoils between them, tracing the edge of his arm, the side of his face, touching him as lightly as Hux would with his hands. It’s smooth, almost silky, in texture, and as warm as the rest of him. He’s gotten especially fond of it, not only for gestures like these but what it means. That he’s comfortable enough to show it to him, to express himself as he normally would. 

On impulse, he turns his face to kiss it, the tapered end of it. He’s surprised to see Hux blush, rosy-dark, immediate, his eyes widening. Even more so when he shuffles as close as he can, burrowing against Kylo’s side, arms closing tighter around him, as though he’s in danger of vanishing.

 

* * *

 

He leaves Hux snoring on the couch. 

He’s said more than once that sleep isn’t a requirement so much as a hobby, but Kylo leaves him to it anyway, unwilling to wake him, and heads down to the pizza place to pick up dinner. His phone buzzes in his pocket halfway there. Rey.

_Hey, dickhead. You’ve been ignoring my calls._

_sorry been busy. whats up?_  

_Just wanted to see how you were doing._

_rey…_

_I’m allowed to check up on you, right?_

He doesn’t respond, stopping to grab their usual: half Hawaiian (for Hux), half mushroom and olive. His phone buzzes again, then three more times.

_Okay, okay. Mom’s worried about you._

_Ben? You could at least text her._

_Sorry, habit. Kylo. Please think about it_.

_She doesn’t blame you, you know. For Dad leaving._

His attention is torn between this and keeping ahold of the pizza box; he doesn’t see the figure in front of him until it’s too late, and he drops his phone as he tries to twist out of the way, unsuccessfully, already flinching at the collision. Except.

Except he passes right through; it’s like walking into a patch of fog. Cold. Damp. Unpleasant.

But there’s no one there, he’s standing alone on the sidewalk, streetlights buzzing bright around him, his phone glowing at his feet.  

Then, the voice in his ear, not indistinct at all, cruel and clear and familiar, the feeling of it like an icy hand on his nape.  _It’s been a long time, Ben Solo_.

_Or should I say 'Kylo Ren'?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes, Hux is being deliberately contrary by calling himself a succubus. He may also be sticking it to Brendol. 
> 
> Chapter art by the magnificent [Katie's Ghost](http://katiesghosts.tumblr.com).
> 
> —
> 
> ([tumblr](http://callmelyss.tumblr.com))
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo dredges up some unpleasant childhood memories. Hux makes cocoa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an FYI, this chapter deals a bit more with Kylo's mental health practice and history. The perspectives here are based entirely on individual experiences. However, this story is not a commentary on any particular disorder (as such, Kylo does not have a specific diagnosis, although there are obviously a range that might apply). 
> 
> Naturally, a world in which demons exist raises some questions about our perceptions _of_ that world, but I wanted to be careful about how the story addresses that, even though "what is reality and how do we know" is definitely not the central point here. Above all, it's important to me to depict Kylo as someone with agency, both in psychological and supernatural matters. The choices he makes here are just that—his choices. 
> 
> If you want to talk to me about how mental health is presented in the story, feel free! You can find my tumblr in the end notes.
> 
> Okay, back to cute demons and creepy voices.

“Hello?” Kylo asks the empty sidewalk. He crouches gingerly, wary of being attacked from behind, to retrieve his phone. The screen is cracked down the middle. “Who’s there?”

_I know you remember me, boy._

He flinches as cold fingers rake through him, not rending skin or muscle but something more fundamental, something he can’t touch or see. Memories flick to the forefront of his mind, choppy, summoned by a will not his own. A lonely boy, dark hair in his face, sitting isolated on the swings while other children whisper a ways off. _Did you hear_ _Poe Dameron needed four stitches_ — _Such a freak_. His mother’s face, weary and disappointed, during another parent-teacher conference, his father absent. _We may need to explore alternative options for high school, if his behavioral issues don't improve._  His darkened bedroom, how the voice came scratching under the door and into his mind.

_Never mind them, child. I understand you. I see how special you are and I can make you great._

It had gotten better—and worse—after that. He humiliated more than one teacher by blurting out their secrets in front of the class; he won every fight behind the library. No one called him a freak anymore or, at least, not where he could hear them. No one spoke to him at all. He didn’t care. Their silence made him feel powerful, above them. But there were also his mother’s eyes when he frightened _her_ and Rey’s face when he called her nothing. Through it all, the voice whispered its grand plans for him, everything they would achieve together, and he had listened until he couldn’t anymore.

“What—what do you want?” he asks now, on the misty street.

 _You’ve changed_ , it accuses. Disappointed. The chill of its attention, its inspection of him, crawling over and under his skin. _You used to have such magnificent anger. But I sense only fear. What’s happened to you, Kylo?_

“Er, therapy?” he tries. “And my frontal lobe’s developed more, I think.”

_They’ve diminished you, I see. They took you from me and made you something small. But no matter. I’ve found you again; we can resume where we left off._

He starts to edge toward the front door of his apartment building. “I don’t. That is, I’m not sure I still want that,” he says. Checking his periphery, again finding nothing. But he _had_ never seen it. He dashes forward and punches in his keycode, diving inside, letting the heavy door slam shut behind him.

The voice chuckles, low and thick, in his ear. _You forget. There’s nowhere to run to, boy. I’m here, in your mind_.

He tries anyway, racing up the stairwell to his floor, hoping to escape its cruel laughter, echoing, loud even over the drumming of his heartbeat. 

 _Foolish child_. 

Pain lances through his head again, making him stumble at his front door; he catches himself against the frame. His hand is shaking, almost too badly for him to get the key in the lock. Even crossing the threshold doesn’t help, however, and visions begin to pulse behind his eyes now, familiar images of what it wants him to do, what it intends for him. He sinks to his knees, gasping weakly, tears stinging his cheeks.

“Kylo?” 

He doesn’t think that he’s ever heard anything better than Hux’s voice, sleep-roughened and soft, saying his name _out loud_ and snatching him free from the tangle of his own thoughts and the proclamations echoing in his head: _power_ and _fear_ and _obedience._

“Is that you? That took a while—did they run out of pineapple again?“ Hux comes into the front hall, rubbing his eyes and squinting. Seeing him fallen there, he immediately drops down next to him, reaching for his shoulder. “ _Shit_ , Kylo, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

 _Who is that?_ the voice demands, snarling, before Hux touches him. _You don’t need him here. Send him aw—_

Then, Hux’s fingers make contact, and everything goes quiet all at once.

The air leaves Kylo’s lungs in a ragged sob; he lurches forward, wraps both arms around the worried demon in front of him and presses his face against the worn fabric of his shirt. Closes his eyes, savoring the smells of detergent and sex and _Hux_.

He startles at this, but hugs him in return, arms closing around him, the gesture automatic. “Woah. Hey. You’re all right, now, hm?” he’s saying and rubbing a slow circle over his back. “You’re safe.”

He doesn’t know how to say that he doesn’t think that’s true, that he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be all right or safe again, but it’s quiet at least, and his thoughts are beginning to settle, although he feels— _raw_ and bruised where the voice was.

“Let’s get you out of these damp things, okay?” Hux asks, coaxing him upright. He hadn’t noticed the drizzle outside, only feeling the water cooling his skin now, the ends of his hair dripping. “I won’t even feel you up, probably, ha. Hang on, I should get you a towel, you’re soaked—“

He shifts away to get up, and there’s a frazzle of something trying to reconnect, the voice hissing as if through static. _Stop this at once._

“No!” He grabs Hux hard around his middle, cutting the sound off again. “No, please, don’t leave.”

He staggers a little, unsteadied, but doesn’t pull out of his grasp. Curls his arms around his shoulders, runs a gentling hand through his hair. “Okay. It’s okay. I’m sorry, I won’t leave. I’m here. I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

 

* * *

 

Kylo’s sense of the night following that unravels. He has indistinct memories of Hux guiding him off the floor, careful to maintain physical contact once he understands that’s what Kylo wants, and helping him out of his wet clothes and into bed. Out of nowhere, he produces a mug of steaming hot chocolate—dark, slightly bitter, with bobbing marshmallows, the way he likes it—and presses it into his hands. Tugs him close after he finishes, arranging them so Kylo's head is pillowed in his lap. 

He wakes more than once to the sensation of fingers combing through his hair, a hand rubbing his back, and indistinct murmurs of comfort— _Hush now, you’re okay,_ or _It’s only a dream, go back to sleep_. He doesn’t remember his nightmares, although he has them, the voice and all its terrible assurances, _I understand you, I see you, I know what you’re capable of, there’s no need to resist, you don’t have to pretend anymore_. Not, Kylo thinks, there in truth, but the memory of it. Or the premonition.

When morning finally comes, it does with sunlight leaking runny through the blinds and Hux’s pajama-clad thigh under his cheek. Bright green flannels with waffles on them. He blinks slowly, feeling the ache in his head, the rasp in his throat, and puts his head down again, groaning. Wanting to pull the blanket over his face and never move again.

Something taps him once, then twice, on the nose. Hux’s tail. “ _Oi_. I felt that. I know you’re awake.” He bops him on the forehead for good measure. 

Kylo peers up at him—he’s sitting with his back against the wall, reading on his phone, glasses slipped halfway down his nose. Even with the horns and smoke, he looks particularly human this way, tired around the eyes, hair sticking up, lips slightly chapped. He smiles when he sees Kylo looking up at him. It’s not an altogether friendly expression, however. “Good, hello there. Glad to have you with us.”

“Uh, hi,” he says. Feeling maybe like he should try to escape. Also like he never wants to take his head out of Hux’s lap. “You didn’t sleep?”

“As I’ve said, I don’t especially need to,” he reminds him. “Plus I had a nice nap yesterday, you'll remember, before you collapsed in the foyer and scared the everliving fuck out of me.”

“Yeah, sorry about that…” Kylo sits up and scratches his cheek, avoiding his gaze. Careful to keep his free hand on Hux’s knee. And it’s only a temporary reprieve, he knows. Eventually, he’ll have to let go of Hux, or Hux will let go of him, and then it’ll be him, alone, and that voice. If last night was any indication, it won’t have much patience with him now.

He’s fucked. He’s alone—and _fucked._

“Hey,” Hux interrupts the panicked unspooling of his thoughts, cups his jaw, and turns his face towards him. “I realize I’m merely the demon faffing about your flat and making wildly liberal use of your WiFi while enjoying your cock and sundry other anatomy from time to time. But perhaps you could be so kind as to divulge what had you looking like you’d just glimpsed the grisly specter of your own demise last night? If only for my own edification. I’d _so_ appreciate it.”

The concern on his face is perfectly genuine, his furrowed brows and troubled eyes. But the set of his mouth has also gone worryingly  _stubborn_ in a way Kylo’s come to recognize, a way that promises, _I will have the truth out of you. With hugs and cocoa or with slow nipple torture or some ungodly combination of the two, it matters not. But I will have it._

“I…” he flounders for a moment, unsure how to proceed. _How do you say, I’m scared I’m having an episode and more scared I’m not and, oh, by the way, could you keep holding my hand for the foreseeable future since I think it might be the one thing saving me right now?_

Exasperation, as well as what might be hurt, flares across Hux’s features. He drops his hand and starts to pull away, tail curling around his own waist in a clearly defensive posture. “Satan’s mauve anus, Kylo, I thought you trusted me at least a little.” 

“ _Wait_ ,” he says, too loud, and clutches Hux’s arm. He hurries to add when he sees the way his eyes narrow, smoke gathering more thickly around them: “No, I do, I do trust you, of course. It’s just—it’s a lot, okay? I’m sorry. I trust you.”

He raises both eyebrows, expectant, but doesn’t move otherwise.

Kylo lets out a breath through his nose. Repeats the process twice more for good measure, steadying himself. “Do you remember the story I told you the night we met? About when I was a kid and I started hearing voices?”

Hux frowns. “Of course I remember. You said that’s why you believe in demons.”

“Yes! Exactly, yes. So, last night, I…heard it again. That _particular_ voice.” Even thinking it makes bile churn up his throat. Saying it out loud this way, even in the daylight, feels—he swallows, hard. “It, uh. Said it has plans for me.”

Kylo waits, studying him in anticipation of a reaction. Dismissal or disbelief or something else that will end this. Instead, Hux lets loose a blistering stream of curses he can’t quite parse. Most of them don’t sound like English, and many more don’t sound like any human language he’s ever heard. “You’re certain?” he asks when he’s finished.

He shakes his head. “I don’t—I don’t know. You don’t, usually, when you’re hearing voices. But there’s another thing. _I_ couldn’t make it stop, but I think maybe _you_ did.” He looks at his hands, then back up at Hux. “That is, I don’t hear it right now. I don’t seem to when, um. When you’re touching me.”

And there’s no rejection in his face, no skepticism. More than anything, he appears surprised; he lets out a low whistle. “Well, fuck me.”

 

* * *

 

“I see two central problems,” Hux is saying, an hour or so later. He’s currently halfway into Kylo’s lap, legs crooked over his thighs, an arm curled around his neck, tail draped across his shins. Is idly winding and unwinding a lock of his hair around one finger. “The first is that we can't say with what or whom we’re dealing.”

He’s spent the last sixty minutes or so interrogating Kylo, including a barrage of questions he couldn’t begin to fathom the logic behind: _What did it smell like, the cloud you walked through? Does the voice have a texture? Rough or smooth? Have you pricked your finger recently? Had a bloody nose?_  

They also, at Hux's urging and despite his own reluctance, tested the mechanics of what he’s begun to think of as Hux’s shield. There’s a beat or two between the removal of physical contact and the voice’s reemergence, they've learned. Right before it speaks again, he has the impression of something pressing against the outside of his thoughts—he’d never considered before that they _had_ an outside, but that’s how it feels—and finding its way back inside. It’s been none too pleased the times it _does_ break through. _Enough of this foolishness._ You _won’t, you_ can’t _escape me._

Kylo frowns. “You're saying you don’t know if it’s another demon? You can’t tell what it is?”

“ _I_ don’t assume you know anything about the Bhutanese, do I?” He sticks out his tongue—and licks the side of his neck while he’s at it, making him shiver. “There’s not exactly an _Audubon's Guide to Demons_ _of North America_  to consult. Your lot’s _Malleus Maleficarum_ is the most thorough attempt you’ve made, and it’s _hilariously_ inaccurate.”

“So it’s another kind of demon, we just don’t know what kind. Obviously not like you,” he muses. “But what does it want? With me, specifically?”

“I mean, you are rather brilliant at opening jars and fetching takeout. Oh, and your foot rubs are excellent, I should say.” The corner of his mouth quirks, not quite a smile. “What’s not to want?”

There's something flat in his tone, his usual teasing faltering. “Hux…what aren’t you telling me?”

He bites his lip. Looks sincerely apprehensive now, in fact, and that’s as alarming as everything else. “I don’t want to frighten you further, and I’m not an expert beyond my own kind, mind you, but my best guess is possession.”

Cold crawls down his gullet and into his stomach. “Like—it wants to take over my body?”

 _“_ Unfortunately, yes. Most demons can’t fully corporealize in this plane of existence; succubi and incubi can because of our half-human natures, but that’s not the norm. So other varieties take, ah. _Hosts_. Typically unwilling ones, as I understand it.” He rubs Kylo’s arm with his free hand, nuzzles his cheek gently, trying, maybe, to soften this revelation. 

He sits still, feeling his pulse in his guts, absorbing this. Eventually finds the air to ask: “What’s the other problem?”

“Hm?” Hux presses a kiss to his jaw, another to his earlobe.

“You said there were two. Two central problems.”

“Oh. Yes,” He clears his throat. “The other is the matter of your—individual brain chemistry, I would think. Even if this isn’t a product of that, you’ll be at risk now and this— _voice_ would naturally take advantage if you were to. Have further difficulties. I suppose. Forgive me, but should you phone your doctor? I realize that _I’m_ , well. That you could be questioning—” He winces.

It’s not like him to stammer.

_I'm worried you might be wondering whether I’m real, too, but I don’t know how to convince you that I am._

Kylo takes his hand, intertwining their fingers. “I called my doctor the day after we met. We talk in person twice a month, on the phone every week. There are—checklists. That sort of thing. I’ve been okay.” It’s the one favor he’s continued to accept from his mother over the years; he’s refused grocery money, tuition, a place to stay, but he can’t manage access to Dr. Kanata on his wages or insurance and he can’t afford to give her up. Not when she knows his history so well, not when she helped him balance his dosages and prescriptions with his coping mechanisms. “I’ll talk to her today, don’t worry.”

“Well, good,” Hux says, relieved. After a beat, his expression returns to its customary haughtiness. “It’s preposterous, of course, to think that _you_ could have dreamed all of _this_ up as a passing fancy.” He gestures grandly, to himself, pajamas and slippers and swishing tail and horns and all. 

“Mm, you’re right,” Kylo says. Squeezes his calf. Leans in, stopping short of kissing him, then smirks. “If I had, I definitely would've made you nicer.”

In immediate retrospect, he probably deserves the pillow to the face, but he yelps anyway, startled, momentarily distracted from his more existential problems by the literal armful of angry demon currently trying to smother him with the bedding. He has the size advantage, of course, in the ensuing wrestling match, although there are a lot of long, skinny, thrashing limbs to contend with as they roll around—the tail trapping him is outright cheating, and he says so, breathless, when Hux eventually pins him on his back, straddling his chest, pushing him flat with both hands. 

He leans down to steal a messy kiss, tasting of butterscotch, in response. “You’re a sore loser, Kylo Ren.”

“Am not.” He accepts another kiss and the accompanying swipe of tongue in consolation. Tightens his grip on Hux’s hips, feeling his cock beginning to dig into his belly. Fervently glad for the blood pumping through his veins, the slight endorphin rush chasing away some of his despair. It’s helping, like when he—

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says, half sitting up, remembering.

Hux pulls back, alarmed. “What? What’s wrong? Did I—”

He shakes his head. “Sorry, no. It’s just. I’m not going to be able to run. Not until we figure out what to do about this.” He’s never missed more than a day or two at a time before. And his routine is essential, necessary; it’s part of what keeps him level, keeps him calm.

“I suppose it would be rather difficult to jog and hold hands,” Hux muses. After a moment's consideration, he grins. “Although...you could always carry me. You know, like a sexy, sinister-voice-repellant backpack. You’d be positively _rippling_ with muscles after a week or two of that.”

Kylo laughs, picturing this. “No, thank you. I know how heavy you are. You made me carry you from the couch to the bed for a whole week when Man City lost to Chelsea, remember? Do you have a higher molecular density or something? You’re like a lead noodle.” 

“That was an emotional time, you heathen, plus I didn’t hear you _once_ complain about taking me to bed.” He scowls. “And, excuse me, I’m as buoyant as a bloody cumulonimbus.”

“Tell that to my ribs right now.” He coughs, exaggerating. 

“So rude, Kylo.” He sits up and plants his hands on his hips, affecting irritation. “Honestly, do I need to punish you again? So soon?”

Kylo squirms under him, deliberately, letting Hux feel him getting hard. “I am an _awfully_ slow learner, sir.”

“It’s all that pent-up energy, hm?” He grabs both of his hands, lacing their fingers together before pressing them against the mattress. “I suppose it does fall to me to keep you properly exercised now. Given the circumstances. Poor darling.” He wriggles backward against his erection. “Well, if duty demands it. Needs must.”

“You’re so selfless.”

“I am at that,” Hux murmurs and then kisses him again, softly.  

 

 

* * *

 

Kylo’s almost feeling optimistic by mid-afternoon, having made Hux wail his name into the pillows a not-inconsiderable amount during their first round in the bedroom—for which he amply repaid him by wringing more than one scream from him in the shower during their second. They’ve maintained physical contact well so far. Have also made further note of its limitations. The few times they’ve separated, Kylo’s managed by aggressively humming the Imperial March until Hux touches him again.

He’s doing exactly this in the living room, ignoring the voice’s increasingly vehement threats. _You’ll regret this, boy. You’ll know more pain and suffering than—_

“Sorry, ready,” Hux says, emerging from the bedroom. He squeezes Kylo’s shoulder, cutting off the mental assault. He’d suggested a walk in the park instead of a run, and went to—to change.

Kylo stares.

“What? Is there toothpaste on my face?” He scrubs at his chin, self-conscious.

“You’re. You’re wearing clothes,” he stammers. “Real clothes. And _shoes_ , holy fuck.”

Pale blue Converse, to be precise. And skinny jeans. A t-shirt and cardigan. His glasses on his nose, product in his hair, slightly spiky. He looks like he might manage events at an indie coffee shop, like he exclusively listens to vinyl, like he probably over-enunciates the word _homage_. Definitely not like he spends most of his time lounging around in pastel pajama pants and watching _The People’s Court_ and refuting medieval demonology on one especially contentious subreddit.

“Of course I’m wearing clothes,” Hux says. “I wear clothes. I don’t go about like some sort of twee vagabond all the time, you know.” At his incredulous expression: “I _don’t_. I'm well aware how humans are supposed to dress.”

He shrugs. “If you say so.” 

He prods him with one pointy elbow, chastising him that way with his tail safely out of sight, and shifts his grip from Kylo’s shoulder to his hand. “Let’s get on with this 'out of doors' nonsense, then. Fresh air, yech.”

And he understands that he’s kidding, exaggerating, but it strikes him now that Hux rarely ventures outside except under duress—most memorably when the cable went out during the Real Madrid-Barcelona match, and he almost summoned a full swarm of locusts before Kylo talked him into going to the nearest pub—and is voluntarily doing so. _For him_. Hux has not, in fact, balked at anything Kylo’s needed from him since he came home, shaken and disoriented, the night before. The offer to walk with him, the way he’s holding his hand now, as though it’s nothing of consequence, all of it lodges warm under his sternum like a small sun.

“Hey, Hux,” he says, stopping him before they step out. “Thanks. For helping me, I mean. I know this wasn’t part of the bargain.”

Something flickers over his features—sadness, maybe, or weariness—too fast to identify before a smile supplants it. “Of course. How many willing human cohabitants do you think I have?” He squeezes his hand. “Just a rough half dozen and none of the others are as pretty as you.”

“Very funny.”

“How dare you suggest I’m joking; you’re definitely my most attractive thrall.” He leans over to peck his cheek. “And you’re quite welcome.”

It’s only a reprieve, a temporary solution, Kylo knows, something still knocking at the edges of him, trying to find a way in, ready to bend and break him, take him from this and every other bright moment he’s ever had, make him into something else, other, not himself. But that just makes him want to hold on tighter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art for this chapter commissioned from the incredibly gifted [Wildfang](https://wildfang-art.tumblr.com)!
> 
> And so much love to inchells, who did [an amazing illustration](https://nomanchesinchells.tumblr.com/image/179095736289) of a scene from Chapter 1!
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> ([tumblr](http://callmelyss.tumblr.com))


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo broadens his listening horizons. Hux goes to the library.

_You don’t know what you’re—_

_—offering you the chance to be exceptional._

_You—this—work—forever._

_He’ll leave you—then you’ll—to me._

Kylo turns up the volume on his iPod, feeling the bass pulse in his molars, the hinge of his jaw, his chest. He doesn’t know what damage he’s done to his eardrums in the past week, but it’s preferable to the voice. Not every form of interference is equally effective, he’s learned. Death metal didn’t work as well as he’d guessed, but he's triumphed with punk anthems and overwrought eighties ballads; Beethoven overpowered it properly, but Mozart failed; and NPR podcasts have consistently chased the voice away, when he’s been able to stand them himself.

(Hux shrugged when he asked if demons have an unusual aversion to public radio. _Personally,_ _I rather enjoy ‘How I Built This_.')

It’s a much greater challenge to keep the voice from meddling in his own thoughts, even as he tunes out its threats and promises. It summons unpleasant memories like it’s rifling through a photo album and picks at his insecurities constantly, seeking, always seeking, weaknesses to exploit. _Remember how Poe looked at you after that, like he was afraid, like you were a monster instead of his best friend._ And: _they never loved you, none of them. Your family didn’t either. They only felt obligated to care for you. Your father left at the first opportunity, after all._ Then: _you’ll never really be better; it will always be a struggle. Aren’t you tired of fighting, Kylo? You don’t need to._  Finally: _this Hux will see you for what you are, too, eventually. He’s simply using you_.

Yes, he finds it comparatively easy to drown out the voice, both its snarled warnings and honeyed lures, but ignoring his own thoughts echoed back to him—well. He feels like he’s gone twelve rounds with the worst versions of himself by the end of his shift. Flees the warehouse as soon as he’s changed. He doesn’t miss Phasma’s watchful expression before he goes today, and that will be another conversation soon, no doubt, but he doesn’t have the energy for it just now.

Kylo takes a deep breath of crisp morning air once he’s clear of the building and another when a familiar hand slips into his, silencing the underlying murmur. “Hello, dear. How was your day?” Hux asks once he’s removed his headphones, hanging them around his neck. “Or night, I suppose.” He makes a vague gesture at the rising sun, gleaming against glass and steel.

He exhales hard, letting all the tension of the past ten hours ride out with the breath, the ugly thoughts and memories replayed for him in an endless loop, the feeling of being slowly picked apart, worn down. He's repeated as many visualizations, as many mantras as he knows, has done his best, too, to find solace in the homogeneity of the work, which he often considers somewhat meditative, to clear his head, but his temples are still throbbing.

Hux rubs his arm with his free hand. “That good, eh?”

“Today it aired the greatest hits of my ninth grade fuck-ups. Plenty of material there.”

“As I understand it, most human adolescents are fuck-ups,” he points out, reasonably. “I bet you were darling as a troubled youth, though. Let me guess, all knees and elbows and ears and shaggy hair and scowl-y faces? _Adorable_.”

He snorts. “Sure, if by adorable, you mean ‘terminally awkward’ and ‘covered in pimples’ and ‘seething with unmanaged anger issues.’ It wasn’t pretty.” A disturbing thought occurs to him: “I don’t want to know what teenage demons are like, do I?”

“I’ve ever been the picture of grace and poise, thank you very much,” Hux replies primly. 

“So you were a little terror.” Kylo grins. 

“I’m confident the humans I traumatized have made full recoveries by now,” he says, as though also trying to convince himself. “They were very _small_ plagues.”

“Uh-huh. I’ve seen your small plagues, don’t forget. And swept up after them.” He accepts the dig he gets to the ribs in response, laughing. “What about you? How was your night?”

 _Did you find anything?_ he doesn’t ask. But Hux would have said right away if he had. They haven't had much luck these past several days.

“Uneventful,” he replies, apologetic. This is wearing on him, too. It’s written into the lines of his drawn face, paler than it should be, the veins standing out blue under his eyes. He’s no less arresting for that fact, in the soft light. “The demonology section at this city’s library is appallingly meager, but I’ve requested some texts ILL. Although why everything isn’t on the bloody internet by now is beyond me.” 

“Thanks for trying.”

“Of course. I only wish it amounted to something at all useful.” Frustration clear in his voice. And worry. He’s filled several spiral notebooks with quotations and observations from his reading. Has dismissed most of it as _complete twaddle_ , but he’s meticulous, anyway, about documenting it. “How are you managing—truly?”

“I’m okay. Tired but okay.” He strokes the side of his hand with his thumb, reassuring. “Are _you_ all right?”

Their new routine is nothing like his usual: he walks Kylo to and from work every evening and morning, strolls through the park with him in the afternoons, spends the time they’re not together doing research, trying to work out a solution. Is expending more of his power than normal camouflaging his demonic traits in public, too. 

“A bit knackered myself,” he admits. He lifts one foot and winces. “And I’ve decided I _really_ don’t enjoy shoes.” His voice goes plaintive. “I don’t know why you torture yourselves like this.”

He’s been wearing some variation of his “real clothes” every day now; Kylo can't say where the different sweaters and vintage t-shirts are coming from any more than he understood the origins of the pajama pants before, only that they seem to appear at will. That probably requires its own effort.

“Here,” Kylo says, taking pity on him. He bends his knees, crouching slightly, and tilts his head, beckoning. “Come on.”

“You’re certain?” Hux asks, waiting for his nod before climbing onto his back and curling his arms around his neck, pressing close. Not _especially_ heavy at the moment. He nudges him under the ear with his nose—chilly—once he’s settled. Sighs, content. “That’s much better. Thank you.”

“No problem.” He squeezes his thighs and starts walking again. If he suspects this is all a gambit, not unlike how he’d needed to share his jacket with him the other day, or how Hux had draped himself all over him on the bus to his therapy appointment because he ‘didn’t like the look of the seat,’ he’s not about to call him out on it. Is grateful that he is, in his way, making all this seem spontaneous, desired. Not like they’re handcuffed together to protect Kylo from whatever malevolent entity wants his body for its own.

Now, as they continue on their way home, Hux’s chin resting on his shoulder, he reminds him softly, as he does every day: “We’re going to figure this out.”

“I know,” Kylo says.

 

* * *

 

They continue that way: the voice menaces and cajoles him at turns; Hux takes his hand when they walk together and puts his feet in his lap while they watch the morning talk shows and sleeps with at least an arm or a leg flung over him, snoring quietly in his ear, drooling on his neck; Kylo holds and holds and holds, feeling like he’s being stretched out, gossamer thin and transparent. They comb through dusty books and message boards. They don’t find anything.

One morning, towards the end of his stint on the night shift, Kylo emerges into the wan light and doesn’t see Hux immediately; fear trickles, icy, through him. He pulls down his headphones— _he’s abandoned you at_ _last_ , it crows—and turns when he hears, “Hello there,” behind him.

Hux steps close and shuts his mouth for him gently with two fingers, also quieting the voice. He’s wearing a suit: tailored pants that cling to his long, endlessly long, legs and hug the curve of his ass; a similarly well-cut jacket over a collared shirt, the first two buttons undone, revealing the white hollow of his throat. Expensive-looking leather shoes on his feet. Probably Italian. Probably designer, all of it. He’s slicked his hair back more than is his habit, but a curl has strayed loose over his brow. His eyes glitter.

“Um, hi,” Kylo says when he can speak again. “That’s—new.”

He caresses his cheek. “Yes, well, I thought maybe you could use a treat.” He hesitates, frowning. “You like it?”

“I like everything you wear,” he replies, too quickly. Although it’s true. “But. Yes. This. _Wow_ , Hux.”

“Yeah?” He smiles, brightening, looking pleased, and ducks his head, bashful—and he’s _never_ bashful. Something complicated happens in Kylo’s chest, seeing that. Something less complicated happens in his groin. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. Dares to touch him, the glide of fine material under his hands before they come to settle on Hux’s hips. “Although you look a little like you’re here to steal my soul.”

He squawks, indignant, and smacks his chest. “What on earth would I want with your soul? They’re not at all appetizing. So _chewy._ It's not the taste, it's the texture.” He pokes his nose, smirking at his aghast expression. “Relax. I’ve never eaten a soul. I’ve never even seen one.”

“What’s the occasion, then?” Kylo asks. “If not temptation.”

Hux links their arms and starts walking, pulling him along. “Oh, make no mistake, pet, there will be _plenty_ of temptation.”

 

* * *

 

On the walk home, Hux subjects him to an entirely different sort of whispering in his ear, and they fumble their way through his apartment’s front door, having no trouble at all keeping in contact now, hands roaming under each others’ clothes, and exchanging wet, sloppy kisses, tasting of creamsicles, sometimes missing and hitting chin or cheek. Hux almost bites his tongue when they trip over the threshold, then sucks on it, apologetic, after they make it safely through. He moans when Kylo presses him back against the wall and grinds against him, both of them already achingly hard.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he gasps. “I had a whole plan, you know. Dinner—and candles—“

Kylo kisses down the side of his neck, licking at his pulse, the bob of his Adam’s apple, the skin he revealed so deliberately for effect. It smells good, _he_ smells good, wintery and almost tart, although whether it’s cologne or the product in his hair or some other expressive quality of his, he can’t say. He only knows he likes it. “That’s. We can. _After_.”

“True.” He runs both hands down his back, then squeezes his ass. “Dessert then dinner. How indulgent.”

He pauses in untucking his shirt for him—something feels _wrong_ , but what?

Hux blinks at him, questioning. 

Finally, he realizes. “Hey, um. Do you think you could?” Kylo gestures at the crown of his own head, then his face and hip. _Look like you,_ he isn’t sure how to say.

He kisses him again, long and lingering, before he steps back. His lips are already swollen as his tail unwinds from behind his back and wraps around Kylo, comfortable, natural. His horns part the still _somewhat_  neat arrangement of his hair; smoke trickles sluggishly then steadily from his bright eyes. “Better?”

“Much.” Kylo returns his attention to his shirt, skimming his fingers over his belly, his ribs, the slight bristle of hair above his waistband. 

He leans into these gentle touches for a moment before he swats his hands away. “Mm. Bedroom.” 

They lose shoes and jackets and belts on the way there, and Kylo stumbles out of his jeans before Hux pushes him back onto the bed. He watches, throat dry, as he sheds the rest of his well-made clothes, piece by piece, fingers moving delicately over buttons and catches until he’s standing there, all pale skin and rosy face, in a pair of silky lingerie shorts. Rainbow-swirled lollipops on light blue. His cock bulges, distinct, under the shiny material, flushed head peeking over the top. 

He catches him gaping and smiles, pleased. “Oh, you like these, do you? You should feel them.” He crawls onto the mattress and over to Kylo, slow, performative at first then more quickly when he loses patience. Takes both of his hands in his own and brings them to his ass, eagerly dragging them across the slick fabric.

Kylo groans into his mouth and dips his thumbs between his cheeks, rubbing at his rim through the shorts, teasing. Shivers at the feeling of the satin on the sensitive skin of his cock as Hux writhes against him. Their rutting grows increasingly frantic, both of them seeking friction, pressure, and as much as each other as they can reach.

“Mm, careful,” Hux says finally and nips at his lips before pulling back. “I had something a little more than this in mind.”

“Yeah?” Kylo asks. He strokes his sides, then the long, soft lines of his thighs. Just the sight of the wet spot at the front of those shorts makes his cock twitch. “What’s on the menu?”

He waves a hand, the gesture normal by now, how he summons and banishes objects, and then he's holding a dildo. It’s not the first time he’s materialized a toy or five to use—almost nothing's off the table with a succubus—although Kylo doesn’t recognize this one: a foot long and sculpted with a semi-realistic head and veins at both ends. The whole thing’s incongruously candy pink and speckled with glitter; it wobbles in Hux’s grip. 

He swallows, arousal thrilling through him. “Both of us?”

He nods. Pupils wide, plush lower lip caught between his teeth. “Yeah. If you want.”

Kylo cups the back of his neck and pulls him down for a thorough kiss, licking into his mouth, chasing the sweet taste of him. “Fuck yes.”

“Splendid.” And there’s something—not _just_ frenetic about the sex they’ve been having lately, although Hux seems to have taken his charge to wear him out rather seriously. But this is more than that and more than his usual enthusiasm for sex, more even than _I like making you feel good_. He’s been almost _defiant_ when they’ve been together these past several days, and he has that look on his face now, even as he fusses with the pillows, arranging them under Kylo’s neck and back and hips, making him comfortable.

He’d been similarly particular when he fucked him the first time. Has the same care as he retrieves the lube from the nightstand and drizzles a generous amount over his fingers. And it’s never mattered much to Kylo what they do or in what configuration, but there is something about the reverent way Hux touches him to prepare him, circling his rim with his fingers before sliding one oh-so-slowly inside. His slight frown of concentration as he works him open, refusing to hurry. It makes him feel looked after. Cared for.

By the time he’s inserted three fingers, Kylo’s bucking his hips, urging him deeper, rocking back against his hand. Hux laughs before withdrawing and leans over him to kiss him again, lazy, drawing slippery fingers over his cock, leaving streaks of lube and precome on his hip, his belly.

He’s as meticulous with the dildo, if not more so; it’s shining faintly in the low light when he brings it down to Kylo’s entrance. He quirks an eyebrow in question, waiting for his explicit go-ahead. 

“Yes, please,” he says. Surprised by the hitch in his voice, like years have passed since Hux touched him last, rather than minutes.

He nudges him with the blunt tip of it a few times, taunting him until he grumbles in quiet protest, and then it’s stretching him, filling him, disappearing into him, and he bears down on it, feeling out the particular texture of the toy. Hux pets his thigh, kisses his knee, swishes his tail over his ankle while the slight burn of the penetration passes. At his nod, he withdraws it, gradual, before thrusting it into him, once and then again, increasing the momentum until he’s fucking him steadily with it, lighting up his nerves, making his legs quake when he finds the best angle. 

Kylo lets his head fall back onto the pillow, moaning, feeling the tension of the week dissipate until there’s only this, only him and Hux, the popcorn ceiling of his bedroom and the bright flashes of color sparking behind his eyelids with each thrust. Eventually, he reaches down out to grab Hux’s wrist before he can get too lost in it, wanting him closer now, wanting them to share this, and forget, for a moment, what they’re facing. No doubt what he intended when he dreamed up this particular gift.

Hux, seeing his meaning, shuffles closer, tucking a leg under one of Kylo’s and one over the other, inching forward until they’re almost flush together. He reaches between them to guide the other end of the dildo into himself, the movement shifting it inside Kylo as he presses it deeper. Once the other half is seated inside him, he drops back onto his elbows, mouth lax, eyelashes fluttering when he twitches his hips forward. “ _Oh,_ ” he says. “Oh yes.”

It’s somewhat ungainly, the two of them rocking together unsteadily, the positioning unfamiliar, but there’s also the way Hux hooks his ankle around his hip, and the rounding of his mouth when Kylo pushes back against him, and the way their skin slides together, the louder slap of flesh when they pick up their tempo, finding a rhythm between them, encouraging each other _more, more, more_. To say nothing of Hux’s expression, as they move together, his face warm and open and wanting, and the litany of praise he has for him. _Yes, Kylo, fuck yes, that’s brilliant, oh you wonderful, wonderful thing_. _Yes, yes, touch yourself, let me see. Beautiful, just beautiful._

In the midst of it, as they gasp and shudder and goad each other, his tail weaves between them, the arrowhead tip caressing Kylo’s cheek as it often does, affectionate, then bumping his lips in a facsimile of a kiss, making up for the distance between them. He kisses it back, tender, then—curious—licks it. Finds it tastes no different from his skin, sweet, slightly tangy. Licks it again, harder.

Hux’s reaction is immediate and breathtaking; he tips his head back, eyes falling shut, and moans, trembling. 

And really there’s nothing to try now except take the end of his tail into his mouth and _suck_.

Three things happen, almost simultaneously:

The hallway light flares bright white before it shorts out, the bulb shattering.

Hux arches his back and comes all over his belly with a startled cry, like Kylo’s never seen him do. 

In doing so, he thrusts the dildo deeper than ever, shocking his own release out of him, his whole body shaking, cock pulsing in his grip as the feeling of it overwhelms him. 

He distantly registers the after, as Hux carefully pulls the dildo free and, too, the slight breeze when he waves away the tacky, sticky mess on his skin. How he settles down next to him while they both come down and he drapes one leg over both of his, splays his hand, possessive, over his stomach, and nuzzles his shoulder with his nose. The happy way he rumbles when Kylo draws him into his arms in response. The shivery kisses he drops on his chest, his throat, his jaw before he finds his mouth. 

All of this is what Hux _likes_ , Kylo knows, nothing to do with what he needs from him, sated now, almost glowing with the energy he’s drawn from him. The small bursts of warmth as he soothes him with it, tending to him, easing him into a peaceful doze.

 

* * *

 

Later, much later, after they eat dinner—Hot Pockets and Eggos—in bed and curl up together again and he’s almost drifted off, Hux’s arms around him, he thinks he hears it. Or else dreams it. A murmur in his ear, but no less fierce or determined for how softly it's uttered: “You can’t have him. You hear me, you old bastard? I won’t fucking let you.” 

 

* * *

 

Kylo wakes just before sunset, his body accustomed to these inverse days now. He slips out of bed, careful not to disturb Hux, who’s lying facedown and spread-eagle, mumbling in his sleep, fingers and tail twitching gently. 

He’s finished relieving himself and is splashing some water on his face when the voice breaks through, surprisingly tentative. The touch of it like a chill mist on his skin. _I need you to listen to me, Kylo,_ it says gravely.  _It's important._

He ignores it and wanders out into the living room, studying the red light coming through the blinds now, the autumn sun vanishing behind the concrete. He can see the gray-green crescent of the park from here. Is feeling less restless than he has been, although he would still like to run, the need of it in his legs, his soul—if such a thing exists, edible or not. He’ll do yoga, maybe, until Hux wakes up. Then they can go for a walk, get ‘breakfast.’

 _I can help you_ , the voice insists.

He idly picks up one of Hux’s notebooks from the coffee table. He can’t read most of it between his cramped scrawl and the ubiquity of Latin—and what may be cuneiform, he isn’t sure—but there are a number of a complex diagrams that look vaguely ritualistic between the copied passages. He wonders if any of them are remotely helpful, smiles faintly at the critical notes in the margins: _Aquinas’s typical nonsense_ and _Virgin sacrifice, really?_ and  _Old priest/young priest?_

 _You’ll want to hear this_.

“There’s nothing you have to say that I need to hear.”

 _Please yourself._ He feels it withdraw slightly. Then, liquid and smooth and terribly clear in his head, it says: _But know that_ _I can help you save him, Kylo_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to dedicate this chapter to everyone who's asked "just how sensitive is Hux's tail?"
> 
> More next week—thanks for reading!
> 
> ([tumblr](http://callmelyss.tumblr.com))


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo makes a decision.

Kylo sits alone on a park bench. He can see the city from this spot, near the top of the hill, but he can’t hear it. The lights glow through swirling fog; he feels, strangely, like he’s viewing a separate world, divided from this one, now his. The park’s a different place at night, the paths well lit but empty. Quiet. Something skitters in the bushes behind him. When he turns, a rat scurries from one shadow to the next. 

According to his phone, it’s after one in the morning. It’s the sixth time he’s checked it in almost as many minutes, the numbers edging forward, too slowly and too quickly all at once. 

He should go. That was the agreement.

He types out a message to Hux, his third such attempt. Erases it. Types it again, unchanged. Kylo doesn’t know where he is just now, maybe walking back from the mini-mart, maybe at the apartment by now, reviewing his notes. He pictures him sprawled on the sofa, warm, comfortable, flannel pajama pants and slippers, that engrossed look he has when he’s trying to discern the point of whatever he’s reading or crafting an especially cutting retort. The tip of his tongue sticks out from the corner of his mouth; his nose scrunches. Then he huffs to himself when he finds the answer as if to say, _Oh, was that all?_  

There’s no reason thinking about him this way should make something ache under Kylo’s ribs, but it does.

He stares down at what he’s typed. Takes a fortifying breath and hits send. Puts down his phone, before he can see the ellipses bobbing, the unfinished response, the long pause on the other end. It doesn’t really matter how Hux replies. Only that he reads it.

After tonight, his response won’t make a difference to Kylo. Can’t. He leaves his phone on the park bench; the crack across the screen snatches the light.

He stands, tucks his hands into his pockets, and makes his way down one of the narrower paths, weaving through a copse of trees. Their overlong branches sway above his head.  

Yeah. It’s time.

 

* * *

 

 _I can help you save him, Kylo,_ the voice said, three days ago. Oozing false solicitude. 

He stiffened, snapping Hux’s notebook shut. “You’re lying,” he growled under his breath. “Hux doesn’t need saving; he’s fine.”

It laughed, resonant, echoing. _Oh, is he? I was thinking he's been looking rather…tired, of late._

“Both of us do, and it’s because of you,” Kylo pointed out. “We’ll sleep easier once you’re out of our lives. If you’re really so concerned for his wellbeing, you could leave me the fuck alone.”

 _Kylo, Kylo, you know I can’t do that. Not after all our time together. You and I have a connection. It’s faded somewhat, yes, but it’s there._ That familiar icy hand grazed his cheek, like a fond parent's. _There’s no freeing either of us from it now. Hux knows that. Deep down you know it, too_. 

He shook his head; his hair fell over his eyes. “You’re wrong. We’re going to figure this out, and you're afraid. That’s all this is. You’re _desperate_.”

It chuckled—a thick, froggy noise that made him shudder. _I am, at most, inconvenienced by the delay. After all, I waited years to find you again, my boy. I can wait longer. Decades if I must. But how long do you think Hux can do this?_  

“He’s stronger than he looks.” Sturdier, too, Kylo mused, thinking of the times he’d ridden Hux, at his insistence, even though he was convinced he’d break him in half, slight as he was.

_I don’t doubt he’s an impressive specimen, even for an incubus—_

“Succubus,” he corrected.

 _As you like. And he’s clearly_ adaptive. _But his kind is uniquely limited. Dependent, if you will, on human prey. As such, they share so many of your frailties._ _We are what we eat, as the saying goes._

“I don’t need to listen to you threaten him.” He should find his headphones. Or better yet, he could go lie down with Hux again and block the voice out completely.

 _I am not. I’m only explaining. Corporeal demons are very delicate; the proper balance of energies requires constant attention. And the more he troubles himself with your difficulties, well. There’s a good chance he’ll do himself a serious injury on your behalf_.

“I won’t let that happen,” Kylo said. “He’s taking care of me; I’ll do the same. It’s—how this works. What we agreed on.”

It wasn’t, not exactly, and the voice no doubt knew that from its perch in his mind, but he wasn’t about to say otherwise. The arrangement had changed, _was_ changing whether they intended it to or not, although they hadn’t addressed it. He didn’t know if he wanted them to address it, whether it might be best to let Hux go, considering. He’d probably return to his old methods of attaining sustenance without much trouble. This would be a minor blip in his existence, nothing that need affect him permanently.

 _And if he were to sacrifice himself for you? How would you prevent that, boy? He’s close to considering it as an option, to drive me out with his powers. It's there in that book you were holding. It would…completely destroy him, I’m afraid. And the worse you fare, the more that option will appeal to him_. _He’s quite fond of you, you know_.

He scoffed. “Hux doesn’t—That’s not. He wouldn’t, okay? You’re wrong or lying or both.“

 _If you say so, I suppose. But perhaps I’ve misjudged your feelings for him if you’re willing to risk it. How unfortunate that you don’t care for him that way. I can think of few things more pathetic than a lovelorn demon with_ unrequited _feelings. Perhaps it’s not so surprising, considering his upbr—_

“Shut up,” Kylo hissed. Unnerved when the voice obeyed. It never relented, never gave him quiet, but it was now, waiting.

He went into the bedroom, then, looking down at Hux, starfished across the bed. The rumpled mess of his hair around his horns. The jut of his shoulder blades through his shirt. The steady drone of his snoring. His tail lashed, restless, over the sheets. Probably feeling Kylo’s gaze on him, he mumbled and rolled over, peering at him blearily through clumped eyelashes. “Kylo? Is everything all right?”

“Fine.” He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over to kiss him gently; his lips were warm and dry, almost feverish with sleep. “We're fine.”

 

* * *

 

There are few truly secluded areas in the park, not after the recent safety campaigns, but this path leads to perhaps the only remaining one: a clearing in the center of the thicket. The sort of place where a person might forget this is a city park, everything beyond it muted, deadened. It looks otherworldly tonight, moonlight shining down through the fog, the stars obscured by leaves and clouds beyond that. “I’m here,” Kylo says. His voice sounds both muffled and too loud against the soft earth. “I did what you asked. I’m alone.”

 _Excellent_. _Now come here and let me look at you_.

He approaches the center of the clearing. He can’t quite make out a figure there, merely the impression of one, or an afterimage, like a shape glimpsed from the corner of his eye that vanishes when he turns his head. It’s tall and gangling and vaguely humanoid in shape, although distorted. Distended. He sees a flash of watery eyes and gray, pockmarked skin.

_Yes. Oh yes. You’re as perfect as I always sensed. We’re going to achieve so much together, Kylo. So very much._

It calls itself Snoke, he’s learned. It told him when he agreed to its terms. It wants him willing, voluntary, in order to avoid damaging him. Its other hosts deteriorated rapidly after being taken by force, and it has grand plans, great ambitions that require longevity. Persistence. It found that, it believes, when it discovered Kylo, alone and angry in his childhood bedroom, wanting so much for someone to believe in him. 

It’s also, it said, willing to make a deal. Demons do take them rather seriously, it turns out. 

“Like we agreed?” Kylo asks. “You won’t harm Hux or my family or anyone I know.”

 _Yes, yes, yes, of course_ , Snoke affirms. Almost too quickly. Dismissive. _Your associates will live out their existences untroubled by my influence. Those are the requisite conditions, and I will abide by them; our covenant may be considered null and void otherwise_.

He frowns and crosses his arms. “And you’ll leave,” he reminds it. “Once you’re in my body, you’ll go to another city and start a new life there. As far from here as possible.”

 _The location hardly matters,_ it hisses, as it had when Kylo forwarded this as a caveat.

He doesn’t want any of them to be able to find him, by accident or by intention, for them to see something else looking out from his eyes. There isn’t much he can do about his father, nomad that he is, but he should be able to avoid Rey and his mother. And Hux. He doesn’t know how much most demons travel, but his is—well, he’s more of a homebody even than Kylo is. 

He paid the rent for the next six months so he'll have somewhere to stay, for a while at least, and gave his notice to Phasma earlier tonight, apologizing for the abruptness. Wrote letters to his mother and Rey and Dr. Kanata and Uncle Luke out in California. Tied up every end he could think of, but something still feels unresolved. _What_ he can’t say. Maybe just his life, not that he intended anything so impressive for it lately. His sole concern until recently was to find ways to keep going, to get better, to be a less shitty brother and son if he could manage it. To hang onto a job. To stand on solid ground long enough to figure out his future. That was before the night at the mini-mart, before Hux. Before good-natured bickering and being tucked together on the couch and drowsy kisses when he gets up for his morning run. Kylo hadn’t considered the possibility of sharing what he had, meager as it was, with anyone before that. Hadn’t thought anyone would want to, not in the long-term.

They didn’t reach the long-term, of course. Won’t now. But maybe they could have.

_No need to be so maudlin, boy. You’ll achieve your destiny with no one to hold you back. You’ll be free of these petty fears and attachments soon enough._

“Nothing was holding me back,” he murmurs to the shifting form in front of him. Knowing it won’t understand. Needing to say it regardless. “Least of all the people I care about. Least of all him.”

 _Nonetheless. That time in your life has ended_.

“Yes, it has.” Kylo bows his head. Not ready, but waiting.

He can’t describe what happens next. The air around him shimmers. The day before, Snoke explained that to possess his body, he would have to cross over—that there were thin spots, connecting their two worlds. Not exactly gateways, nothing so permanent or so formal. For a moment, maybe through their connection, he can feel the tumult on the other side, the cacophony, and then a blast of hot air, like opening the door on a summer day, and, lastly, a gust of impossibly cold wind. This, the cold, is what pours into him, seeping into his very cells all at once, his whole body too shocked and frozen even to shiver. And with this sensation: Snoke.

Kylo doesn’t know how old the entity that’s currently merging with him must be, but it has the memories of _ages_ , of green fields soaked with blood and the terrible pinch of famine and the ripple of shockwaves spreading out from a dropped bomb. It’s orchestrated the rise and fall of empires, places he’s never seen and can barely imagine, from the burning of palaces to the distant destruction of unknown planets, shattered by single beams of light. He can’t decipher most of it, only feels it, too overwhelmed even to breathe. Warm water streams down his numb cheeks.

And more, worse, is what Snoke has planned now. It won’t be content, he sees, with accumulating some wealth or power. It wants everything, all of it. It wants the world, his world, its destruction and subjugation; it is, above all, an insatiable hunger, impossible to satisfy. And he will be its instrument. He staggers under the weight of it, or he would, except there’s another will keeping him upright, sending its own messages to his nerve-endings, to his muscles. He twitches forward, puppet-like.

“Oh, Kylo,” it says. His voice and not. Gravelly and more sonorous. The intonation wrong. “You’ll see. It will be glorious, everything we build. You’ll forget these paltry mortal matters before long. We will realize your full potential. Together. Nations will tremble before us.”

“Beg pardon,” a familiar—wonderfully, terribly familiar—voice drawls nearby. “But that sounds fucking _awful_. Like the worst sort of self-help retreat. ‘Unlock your potential, discover your synergy, and conquer all humankind for the low, low, low price of $666.66.' So predictable.”

 _Hux,_ Kylo says or tries to. His mouth won’t work. _Hux, you’ve got to get out of her_ e.

No telling whether he hears or not. He clucks his tongue and shakes his head, studying him. Kylo’s face, distorted with Snoke’s grimace, is reflected in his eyes. His expression sobers. “Oh, love, what have you done.”

“Come to his senses,” Snoke hisses. “Accepted his true master and his destiny.”

Hux plants his hands on his narrow hips, visibly annoyed. He’s wearing one of Kylo’s hoodies over his pajama pants—sprinkled donuts on lilac—and even his bunny slippers seem to be glaring up at them. “His 'true master,’ is it? I will kindly ask you to leave the kink exploration to the experts, thank you. And to get the hell out of my friend-cum-roommate-cum-fuck-buddy.” He purses his lips in distaste. “Kylo, pet, we really ought to discuss terminology once we evict that crusty muppet from your sexy arse.” 

Snoke laughs again, coldly, in his voice, nothing like his own laughter. “Evict _me_? Kylo made an agreement; he is bound now. His body and life are _mine_.” It drags his body clumsily forward, looming over Hux, who lifts his chin, imperious, unfazed. “And what’s a little meat-humper like you going to do about it?”

“I was thinking something like this,” Hux says and seizes his throat.

He expects to feel compression, those long fingers he knows so well squeezing his windpipe, and he does, briefly, but it ends just as quickly. Hux grabs him and then pulls back; Kylo has the sense of something being drawn from him like a half-swallowed string yanked out of his esophagus, and he retches, feeling it leave him, the long retraction of it, snarled and catching at his insides. When it leaves him, he collapses, gagging and wheezing, clutching at his throat. His skin and muscles tingling as feeling returns to them.

Dizzy, Kylo comes back to himself enough to focus on Hux grappling in the dirt with a massive, gray shadow, almost substantial. It’s pinning him down by the shoulders, knocking him against the wet ground, and he thrashes under it, clawing at the pits of its eyes until it howls and loosens its hold. They tumble like that, once and then twice, the shadow gaining the upper hand easily both times. Finally, it staggers upright, its claws grasping Hux by the shirt and lifting him off his feet; he kicks, struggling, tail whipping through the air.

_I’m going to dismantle you, atom by foolish atom, and then I’m going to take this human you love so much and break him until he begs for oblivion, do you understand? He will know what he’s become in every waking moment and he will dissolve._

“Oh, you first, I insist,” Hux gasps. He grabs Snoke’s face in both hands, and then there’s the sulfur-smell of struck matches and the ozone-simmer of lightning and, overpowering both, the tang of burnt sugar. Energy crackles between Hux’s hands, his palms glowing with it, and he pours it into the shade, constant, merciless until Kylo can see it beginning to fracture, light gleaming through the fissures, which widen and widen until suddenly its indistinct form explodes in a spray of ash and incandescence.

Hux drops the few feet to the ground, lands awkwardly on one ankle, and _tilts_. For a moment, it looks like he might right himself, but then he blanches. “Oh, _bollocks_ ,” he says before he falls heavily.

“ _Hux_ ,” Kylo rasps. His mouth feels sandpapered. He crawls through the chill grass to his side, feeling drugged, his limbs heavy. Still, he manages to gather the prone demon in his arms, pulling him into his lap as much as he can. He's terribly light, and his skin feels cool to the touch; it’s gone worryingly pale, close to translucent. “Hux?”

"Kylo." He winces up at him, reaching one clammy hand to trace the tender spot under his chin. “Oh. Sorry about that. It’s definitely going to bruise.”

Kylo grabs his fingers and kisses them. “It’s okay. You—fuck. You _saved_ me, Hux. How the fuck did you do that?”

“Fried the bastard, naturally.” He grins. “His idea. Burst his—his cells apart. He wasn’t so nearly well put together as I am. Or was.” He frowns at his hand, at the way it’s…fading? Then uses it to smack him feebly in the arm. “But Kylo, you. _Stupid_. Why would you make a deal with him in the first place?” 

He hugs him closer, letting Hux’s head fall against his shoulder. “I. It’s not important now. You’re. We’ve got to—to get you better. Here.” He kisses him hard, trying to push his own life-force into him. 

It shouldn’t frighten him as much as it does that Hux doesn’t taste like anything right now. Or that he kisses him back so weakly.

He’s shaking his head when they part. “Not that I don’t appreciate the effort. Truly. But.” He inhales with some effort, his breath rattling. “I'm rather too far gone. It’d take everything in you and then some.” 

“No, no, no,” Kylo says. Kisses him again, as long and deeply as he dares with the way Hux is starting to tremble in his arms. “You can have it. All of it. Everything I’ve got.”

He cradles his face with one hand, smiling at him. “Oh, love. That was the point.” Then, he falters. Goes lax.

“Hux, hey? Stay with me, okay?” He presses another kiss to his lips, then more to his cheek and jaw, the end of his nose, his eyelashes, his temple. Trying to summon every ounce of lust he’s ever felt for him, not insignificant in the least, the memories of all they’ve done together, all they still might do, the taste of his skin, the sounds he makes when especially pleased, his easy way with Kylo, everything he’s given him. All the wanting in his body—if he could transmute it and give it to Hux directly, he would. But it’s more than that, of course, much more. It’s his grumpy morning news commentary and how he hates horror movies for their ‘lack of realism’ and the snotty know-it-all sound of his voice and how he takes up the entire couch, even when Kylo’s on it, too, and that he seems to like nothing better than curling up with him and eating junk food and simply being _there_ together _. “Please._ Please, please, please.” 

If there were anyone to see, it would look beyond strange, the way he’s running his hands over Hux, every inch he can reach, trying to will his energy into him. He laughs, hysteric, thinking about how he would explain it. _Sorry for groping my demon boyfriend in public, officer. He almost killed himself trying to save me from being possessed._

“Boyfriend?” Hux mumbles against his lips. His skin has begun to warm again, and he feels substantial, present in a way he wasn’t the too-long heartbeat before. “That’s terribly presumptuous, don’t you think? You haven’t even asked me out.”

Kylo jerks backward, startled, before he hugs him, clutches him, in fact, against his chest. Hux squawks and wriggles in his arms, a half-hearted protest at his grip.

“And assuming that I do date, really,” he’s saying into his sternum. “That _demons_ do. Maybe we don’t believe in it, did you consider that? Maybe we have very specific courting rituals. Maybe there’s a blood sacrifice involved. And I wouldn’t have _died_ , precisely. I was de-corporealizing, an unpleasant process to be sure but— _mmph_.”

Hux doesn’t seem especially put out by the interruption, licking back into his mouth just as eagerly; that and the slightly cloying taste of cotton candy are a relief Kylo can’t fully articulate. Energy tingles between them like static electricity, making the hairs at the back of his neck rise.

“But Kylo,” he breathes, continuing his thought undeterred when they’ve parted, patiently accepting every touch and caress as he checks him over, needing to establish him as  _solid_ and _real_. More public fondling, but it is the middle of the night. There's no one here but them. “This is impossible. You should be a desiccated corpse if you gave me enough of your vitality to bring me back from that. What did you _do_?”

He shrugs. “I just—I thought about you. Wanting you. The past month, what it’s been like. How much I.” He avoids his gaze, understanding, suddenly, where this is going. What it was, what must have happened. Remembering, too, the text he sent, the confession he made. His face heats. “That is. I.” _Love you_.

“I see,” Hux says, voice soft, although it seems unlikely he could understand anything from that incoherence. He strokes his face with one knuckle, soothing. “Is it serious?”

He’s smiling when Kylo turns back to look at him. Not mocking, only gently teasing. Fond.

“Very,” he admits. Searches for some sign of rejection in his eyes. Finds none.

“Oh. Oh dear.” Hux curls his arms around his neck, drawing him closer. “Whatever shall we do?” he asks before he kisses him. Lightly at first and then more firmly, his lips parting under Kylo’s, his nose nudging his cheek. The hard edge of teeth, a promise. He siphons one last trickle of power from him before he finally pulls away.

“Mm, that’s enough, love,” he says. “Can’t have you wearing yourself out too much.” 

“No?” And they have been sprawled there on the cold ground for—he isn’t sure for how many minutes. The wet has long since seeped into his jeans, and Hux can’t have fared much better. "Why not?" It doesn't matter, not now. All that matters is this: the two of them. Intact. Together.

“Well, for one thing, I  _will_  still need you to carry me home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all of you who have followed along with this silly story the past month or so. It was an impromptu Halloween project, but it's been so fun, entirely thanks to you. <3
> 
> As you may have noticed, there's an extra chapter. Just a fluffy, porny little epilogue to wrap things up.
> 
> ([tumblr](http://callmelyss.tumblr.com))


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some lingering questions are answered.

“I still don’t understand,” Kylo says with some effort. A not-unpleasant trickle of sweat crawls between his shoulder blades. His hands tighten on Hux’s hips, helping him move. “You can feed off—other emotions?” 

That’s one way to explain it, at least: what happened in the park.

“I can’t entirely account for it myself. It’s uncommon, certainly. And I doubt anyone’s explored it much as an option, given the, mm. Predictability of my kind. Still, I expect it has something to do with our level of— _ah—_ connection _._ ” Hux shakes his head; the back of his neck is glossy with perspiration. He shivers when Kylo leans forward to lick it. “Although, really, Kylo, you want to discuss this _now_?” 

And true, it’s not the easiest thing, thinking analytically—or talking at all—when Hux is currently straddling his lap, sitting on his cock, slowly riding him, his back to Kylo’s chest. He reaches around to trace the parallel lines of his ribs under his robe and to toy with one nipple, rubbing the pebbled skin under his thumb until Hux moans. Then he slides his hand down his belly to touch his cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts. He could definitely lose himself in this, the wet heat clutching at him and the sweet taste of Hux's skin and the soft way he whines every time he descends.

But they _have_  been at it for a while now, the third such session in the past twelve hours, and he has questions—

“If that’s true, aren’t there easier ways to go about this?” he asks. Groans when Hux clenches around him, the right side of too tightly. “ _Fuck_. N-not that I’m complaining.”

“Mm. Maybe,” he acknowledges. Tipping his head back against Kylo’s shoulder, kissing messily at the side of his face, his ear. “But this is the most fun, don’t you think?”

He kisses him back, just as haphazardly. "Of course. Only. Is it—are you—" _Is it enough?_   _Are you going to be okay?_

Hux pets his cheek, soothing. "It's so good, Kylo. _You're_ so good," he affirms. "It's exactly what I needed. But you're not getting too tired, are you?"

He shakes his head, even though he can't see him. "No, I'm fine." And he is. Doesn't feel any ill-effects beyond a slight weariness. 

"Good, that's good," he sighs. "You've done so well already. Mm. Both times. You marvel."

The first time, when they’d gotten back to the apartment, after Hux insisted he drink a half-gallon of Gatorade and eat something, they stepped into the shower together by mutual agreement. Rinsed away the memory of what had happened with the mud and sweat and ash. Touched one another carefully, reverently, bringing each other off that way, soapy skin and wet kisses. And Kylo had fallen asleep, exhausted, with Hux curled on top of him in his bathrobe, head tucked against his, pressed as close as he could be, damp hair under his cheek.

Hours later, he’d woken up to Hux mouthing at the head of his cock through his sweatpants. It had been simple enough to grab him around the waist and turn him so that he was kneeling over his face. To coax his hips down so he could lap at him, too, until he was shaking and moaning around him. It had turned frantic and sloppy and perfect after that.

And now this, Hux perched on top of him, rocking up and down onto him, achingly slow and then faster, pace dropping off every time Kylo thinks he might come. He’s still wearing his bathrobe, fluffy and soft and patterned with ginger cats, guarding against any chill in the room, and Kylo’s still in his sweats and t-shirt, or is partly at least, the former rucked up and the latter tugged down. Neither of them has uttered a word about going anywhere today, about doing anything except this, simply feeling each other, confirming with touch and taste that they're both here, despite everything. And it’s that as much of the fun of it or the necessity of it, Kylo knows, the solace of this, Hux warm, breathing, real against him.

Still. He nips at the back of his neck, urging him on.  _More._

“So impatient,” he chastises, but he takes pity on him, going faster now, driving louder noises out of both of them and the shrill squeak out of the couch as he increases his pace, crying out when Kylo touches him again, pumping him. His tail drapes itself around his neck, not squeezing, just there, maybe for balance; he reaches up to stroke it, too, tenderly, feeling Hux quiver around him right before he comes.  

He rides him, arrhythmic, for several more beats before it’s enough and Kylo joins him, collapsing back against the sofa when he does, Hux boneless on top of him for several breathless moments, both of them panting.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Kylo says. Kissing his hair, his ear, his shoulder, his tail, everything he can reach when he’s lucid enough. “I love you.” The words escape before he can stop them.

He tenses immediately, although Hux knows, Hux _has_ to know by now, and he’d more or less said it in the park and in that text, but still, it leaves him feeling bare in a way he dislikes. Even though it _is_ true and has been.

Hux doesn’t move right away—instead, draws one of Kylo’s arms around him, bringing their entangled hands to rest over his heart. He inhales. Exhales. “I love you, too,” he murmurs finally.

And that, too, feels less like a confession than an acknowledgment, something they both understood as fact, but haven’t been able, or perhaps willing, to name. 

 

* * *

 

When they’ve more or less put themselves together again, they resettle on the sofa, Kylo’s head resting against Hux’s chest, listening to the muffled tempo of his heartbeat. His fingers comb gently through his hair; his tail curls over his waist. Content.

“How did you find me earlier?” Kylo asks, eventually. Something else he can’t quite reconcile, now that he’s had time to think about it. “How’d you even know where to look? Or _to_ look in the first place.”

“Kylo, you sent me an obvious goodbye text telling me how much I meant to you and please not to worry.” He pokes his forehead, none too gently. “ _That_ makes people worry, by the way. It’s also on every checklist for ‘signs your loved one might be considering harming themselves.’” He makes a sour face at his surprised expression. “What? I read all the pamphlets in your doctor’s office; the cellular service there is abysmal. Ask me about postpartum depression; it’s a terrible condition, and I know quite a bit about it now, thanks to you.”

He grins, chin on his chest, gazing up at him. “Loved one, huh?” 

“As we have established—unless you’ve already forgotten, in which case I _will not_ repeat myself—and remember I have yours in writing, albeit badly punctuated. What exactly do you have against apostrophes?” 

“Okay, okay, so you read my text and it tipped you off. But I could have been anywhere. How did you know to go to the park?”

“Mm, easy, I had you microchipped, pet.” Hux laughs when he jerks in his arms. “I’m kidding, calm down. I used ‘find my iPhone.’ Your passwords are appallingly easy to guess, VaderFan29.”

He makes a disgruntled noise and resettles.

“But I _will_ have you microchipped if you do anything that incredibly stupid again, understand? I’ll put trackers in all your clothes if I must. Honestly, Kylo what possess—ugh— _why_ would you do that? We were going to figure it out. I thought you understood that.” The grip on his hair tightens, painfully, and the sensation sends a small ripple of arousal through him, his cock twitching weakly. Although he doesn’t think he could manage anything else today. He only wants to lie on this couch with Hux and never leave again.

In the meantime, though, there’s still this conversation to have. And they _should_ talk about it, much as he might prefer otherwise. “It was you. He threatened you. That you’d be hurt—or, well. Do what you did. Almost destroy yourself. Um. For me.” He ducks his head and scowls against the faded cotton where he can’t see him, remembering, and pinches his hip. “Why would _you_ do _that_ , huh? What happened to self-preservation? I’d think a demon would be good at that.”

“I’m an _unconventional_ demon, as you’re well aware, and I will do as I please,” Hux replies, airily. Yelps when Kylo pinches him harder. “Very well. No more foolish self-sacrifice for either of us in the foreseeable future. Heroic nonsense has a limit of one instance per relationship, and we’ve gotten it out of the way early. Good on us.”

Kylo glances up at him, the soft-sharp lines of his face, eyes very green, smile playing over his lips. Looking simultaneously as human and as demonic as he ever has. “Relationship? Thought you didn’t do those.”

“I only said I _might_ not, and you didn’t actually _ask_ , so—“

He doesn’t think he’ll tire of kissing him. 

Hux protests feebly and then relents, grumbling against his lips for another few syllables before relaxing into it, kissing him back as soundly, tangling both hands in his hair, pulling him closer. There’s more to say, of course, more to discuss, and decisions to make about the future. And he’ll need him, Kylo knows he will, in the days after today, Snoke gone, yes, but everything else as unaltered and unavoidable as it's always been. But he doesn’t have to ask if Hux will be there, if he’ll hold his hand, or fuck him stupid on this sofa, or be there when he comes back here, raw from the world. He can feel the _yes_ of it in how he’s kissing him now, embracing him with every limb, no intention, it seems, of letting go.

And Kylo will be there for him, too, to give him whatever he needs, whenever he needs it, to sustain him, yes, as he has, but also to watch court shows with him and bring him bad frozen food from the mini-mart and listen to him rant about morons on the internet and drag him out of the apartment every now and then.

It’s not an arrangement or an exchange or an experiment, not really. Not anymore.

It’s what they have in each other—however unlikely or unexpected it might be that they found it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! <3
> 
>  
> 
> ([tumblr](http://callmelyss.tumblr.com))


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